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THOMAS   P.    O'NEILL,  JR. 

LIBRARY 

BOSTON   COLLEGE 


Gift    of 


Thomas  V.  Reiners 


On  the  Esplanade 


Boston  New  and  Old 


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Digitized  by  tlie  Internet  Arcliive 

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The  Charles  River  Esplanade 


||||iMI||||ini||||||iri|||{||M||{|{||ii||{|{|iii||||{||ii||m||ii||||||iM||{|{||M|||||||ii|||||||M||{m 

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BOSTON 

New  and  Old 


BY  T.  R.  SULLIVAN 


DRAWINGS   BY 


LESTER  G.  HORNBY 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

MDCCCCXII 


73,-5 


COPYRIGHT,   I912,    BY   T.   R.   SULLIVAN   AND   LESTER  G.   HORNBY 


ALL    RIGHTS   RESERVED 


Published  November  1Q12 


mmi  LI8RARY 


spring  Morning  on  the  Common 


v-:<fc.-^.^ 


Contents 


I.    At  Thiodon's 
II.    Trimountain 

III.  Time's  Inflictions 

IV.  Time's  Amendments  . 
V.    Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

VI.    The  Soul  of  the  City 


9 
29 

89 


^be  Charlesgate  from  the  Fenway 


,•„,  s 


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•v>») 


Illustrations 

On  the  Esplanade      ......  i 

The  Charles  River  Esplanade  {Colored^     Frontispiece 

Spring  Morning  on  the  Common        .         .         .  v 

The  Charlesgate  from  the  Fenway        .         .  vii 

Golf  in  Franklin  Park      .          .         .         .         .  ix 

The  Old  "  Bell-in-Hand/'  Pie  Alley     .         .  i 
Old    King's    Chapel   and  the    Parker    House, 

Tremont  Street         .....  6 

Tremont  Street  from  Lafayette  Mall      .         .  9 

Vll 


Illustrations 


Fishing  Boat  at  Old  T  Wharf      .         .         .  i6 

Commercial  Street  from  the  Custom  House  .     i8 
Rainy  Day  at  Quincy  Market.  The  flower 

STAND       ........       20 

Old  Church  on  Charles  Street     ...  26 

The  Old  Revere  House,  Bowdoin  Square  .     28 

The  Navy  Yard  from  East  Boston        .         .  29 

In  Central  Square,  East  Boston        .         .  •     3^ 

State  Street,  and  the  Old  State  House        .  34 
Washington   Street   from  top  of  "  Globe  " 

Building    .......  36 

City  Hall  FROM  THE  Roof-tops  .         .         .  -     Z^ 

Old  Buildings  in  North  Square    ...  40 

Park  Street  Church  from  Lafayette  Mall  .     44 

Bridge  in  the  Public  Garden          .         .         .  51 

In  the  Public  Garden         .         .         .         .  -54 

Path  in  the  Fenway        .         .         .         .         .  58 

New  Old  South  Church,  Copley  Square   .  .     60 

Christian  Science  Temple  from  the  Fenway  62 

The  Esplanade,  Harvard  Medical  School  .     64 

Old  House  on  Beacon  Street         ...  71 

... 
Vlll 


Golf  in  Franklin  Park 


Illustrations 


Dartmouth  Street,  corner  of  Commonwealth 
Avenue      ....... 

The  State  House,  Looking  up  Park  Street 
In    Louisburg   Square.    House  where    Jenny 

LiND  WAS  MARRIED  .  . 

In  Old  Mount  Vernon  Street 

BoYLSTON  Street  from  Charles  Street 

The  Somerset  from  across  the  Fenway 

A  PiNCKNEY  Street  Doorway      ,         .         .         . 


74 
78 

80 
82 

89 
109 
I II 


J':i 


n^i^rn^ 


M 


The  Old  ''  Bell-in-Handr  Pie  Alley 


3  A^ 


At  "Thiodori 


'**«HF' 


"•^' 


'V  .:::^ 


|||l'il||||||ill|||||l'i|||j|| {||| ||{|l>M||||||H|||l|||i.|||miM||||{|Mi|||miii|||||||iiU||{|l>rM||||l>>l|||||IH||{||||n|||mi><l|||| I||||I'MI||||I>>||{||||>.|||||||ii,|{||||M|||| 

IliiiiiillliiiiiiilliiiinlllihiiiilliiiiiillliiiiiHiluiiiillliiiuMlliiiiiillliiiiiillliiiiiillliiMiillliiiiM 

BOSTON 

New  and  Old 


AT    THIODON'S 

ALL  times  when  old  are  good!"  as 
the  proverb  says;  and  at  one  good 
time  in  Boston,  more  than  fifty  years  ago, 
there  came  to  the  Howard  Athenaeum, 
which  then  was  devoted  chiefly  to  per- 
formance of  classic  drama,  popularly  de- 
scribed as  ^^the  legitimate,"  a  so-called 
''  Diorama  of  Dissolving  Views."  The  ex- 
hibition was  introduced  merely  to  tide 
over  some  short  interval  between  import- 
ant engagements,  but  its  promise  piqued 
curiosity,  especially  among  younger  thea- 
tre-goers. All,  young  and  old  alike,  were 
thrice-familiar  with   the    panorama,    that 

3 


Boston  New  and  Old 

obsolete  form  of  entertainment,  compris- 
ing a  sequence  of  huge,  scenic  paintings, 
miles  in  length,  which  slowly  unrolled  — 
not  without  occasional  hitching — behind 
the  footlights,  under  the  pointer  of  a  show- 
man who  described  them.  There  were 
panoramas  of  the  Mississippi  River,  of  Ni- 
agara and  the  Great  Lakes,  of  Switzerland, 
of  Paris,  of  the  American  Revolution. 
They  are  all  rolled  up  now  and  forgotten, 
superseded  by  the  cinematograph  of  vivid 
realism.  In  its  descriptive  title  the  Dio- 
rama pledged  something  more  than  painted 
canvas,  something  strange  and  new;  and 
amply,  when  this  one  came,  did  it  fulfil  the 
pledge.  Viewed  through  a  wide,  dark  frame 
under  the  sunshine  and  shadow  of  reflected 
and  transmitted  light,  brilliant  landscape 
melted  into  architecture,  that  into  vast 
wastes  of  desert,  which  became  in  turn 
radiantly  fertile,  blooming  like  the  rose. 

4 


At  Th  to  don's 

Aiding  the  illusion,  there  passed  from  time 
to  time  across  these  varying  scenes  cun- 
ningly devised  mechanical  figures, —  la- 
boring camels,  prancing  cavaliers,  peasants 
and  pack-horses  and  marching  troops,  — 
marvellously  to  shift  one  into  another 
with  their  backgrounds ;  to  dissolve,  ac- 
cording to  Prospero's  and  the  new  ma- 
gician's word.  He,  magician, manager,  and 
proprietor, was  a  Frenchman, — then,  they 
did  all  these  things  best  in  France,  —  by 
name,  Thiodon,  which  soon  turned  into  a 
part  of  daily  speech.  The  official  designa- 
tion of  his  magic  product  was  far  too  cum- 
bersome for  general  use.  All  said:  "Let 
us  go  to  Thiodon's !  " 

To  one  looking  backward  down  the 
vista  of  the  past,  heightened  in  its  charm  by 
the  present's  wider  margin,  Boston  rises  up 
in  a  long  series  of  dissolving  views,  akin 
to  the  Frenchman's,  vague,  clear,  illusory, 

5 


Boston  New  and  Old 

vanishing  altogether  and  unexpectedly  re- 
appearing. Before  proceeding  to  consider 
our  own  day's  passing  phases  in  the  ad- 
mirable group  of  drawings  by  which  these 
pages  are  suggested,  let  us  pause  here  for 
a  brief  glance,  through  deepening  shadows, 
at  the  Boston  of  sixty  years  ago,  with  its 
tinges  clearer  then  than  now  of  revolu- 
tionary and  colonial  times.  The  door 
is  open ;  the  glamour  of  the  place  in- 
vites us.  Step  for  a  few  moments  into 
Thiodon's. 

Deserts  we  shall  see,  surely,  for  we  man- 
ufactured them,  ourselves;  and  "dumps," 
doleful  enough;  architecture.  Heaven  save 
the  mark !  and  roses  heaped  on  roses ! 
Why,  over  in  New  York,  they  say  that  all 
theirs  come  from  Boston.  Camels,  possi- 
bly, if  it  be  circus-time;  peasants,  prob- 
ably, of  all  nationalities;  since  in  a  dread- 
ful book,  the  other  day,  we  chanced   to 

6 


Old  King's  Chapel  and  the  Parker  House,  Tremont  Street 


r^H!  11 


■i^V^ 


At  Thiodon  s 

read  that  all  America  is  soon  to  be  made 
up  of  Finns  and  Huns  and  Polish  Jews, 
and  that  Boston  is  already  a  Roman  Cath- 
olic city.  Remembering  past  terrors  of 
"yellow  peril,"  we,  for  two,  will  not  be- 
lieve it;  any  more  than  we  will  believe 
that  Harvard  Crimson  has  turned  in  a 
single  night  to  Cardinal  Red  ! 

Here  is  the  box-office  !  Twelve  and  a 
half  cents  it  used  to  be,  or  two  tickets 
for  a  quarter.  What!  are  times  so  altered? 
Take,  O  showman,  thrice  thy  fee  !  but 
let  us  pass,  to  see  the  machine  work,  and 
draw  our  own  conclusions. 

Just  one  word  of  warning.  Let  us  not 
be  portentous  I  Boston  has  been  said  to 
take  \x.%^{ sometimes  too  seriously.  And  let 
us  not  prognosticate  more  than  we  can 
help,  being  human.  Patrick  Henry  had 
but  one  lamp  to  guide  his  feet,  —  the 
lamp   of  experience.    You   may  "lay   to 

7 


Boston  New  and  Old 

that/'  with  long  John  Silver.  We,  for 
two,  are  not  alarmists.  Cheerfully,  then, 
for  the  fun  of  it,  hand  in  hand,  let  us 
p-o  in  ! 


'Tremont  Street  from  Lafayette  Mall 


Trimountain 


% 


K 


II 

TRIMOUNTAIN 

SOME  years  since,  before  the  cars  were 
removed  from  Tremont  Street,  seated 
in  one  of  them,  two  good  Bostonians  fell 
into  amicable  dispute  over  pronunciation 
of  the  name.  One  called  it  "Trem-ont"; 
"Tre-mont,"  the  other,  accenting  the  sec- 
ond syllable.  Failing  to  agree,  they  ap- 
pealed to  the  conductor,  who  advanced 
in  pursuit  of  his  fares.  Recognizing  them 
as  citizens,  he  answered  at  first  only  with 
a  puzzled  look.  Then  urged  to  speak, 
he  said,  indignantly,  "Why,  Tree-mont 
Street,  of  course  ! "  and  passed  on.  The 
problem,  thus,  was  left  unsolved;  and  a 
similar  doubt  used  to  hang  over  the  origin 
of  the  civic  sub-title,  "  Trimountain," 
which    once    recurred  frequently  in  cur- 

1  I 


Boston  New  and  Old 

rent  speech,  but  now  is  seldom  heard  ex- 
cept in  the  garbled  form  borne  by  the 
thoroughfare  above  mentioned. 

A  word  of  digression,  here,  about  these 
same  street-cars  of  ours  !  They  have  the 
enviable  reputation  of  being  trimmer  and 
neater  than  most.  The  conductors,  too, 
however  tried  by  idle  questions,  have  bet- 
ter manners  than  some  we  know  of,  and 
they  are  masterful  in  the  matter  of  Eng- 
lish. Their  vehicles  have  but  two  doors; 
and  none,  worn  and  harried  though  he 
might  be,  was  ever  known  to  call  out  at 
the  terminus,  "  Leave  by  the  nearest  door!  " 
He  always  says  ''  the  nearer"  one. 

There  comes  to  us  from  New  York  an 
amusing,  well-authenticated  tale  of  a  con- 
ductor there  who  goaded  forward  a  stately, 
high-souled  dame  by  his  coarse  shout  of 
^^Step  lively,  lady!"  She,  more  than  equal 
to  the  occasion,  with  a  scathing  look  re- 

12 


Trimountain 

plied,  ^^I  have  no  wish  to  Hnger,"  and  swept 
him  by.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  such  a  scene 
would  be  impossible  in  Boston;  for  our  con- 
ductors, as  a  rule,are  self-respecting  and  re- 
spectful, of  good,  if  not  high  behavior.  Odd 
characters  are  to  be  found  among  them ; 
like  the  one  long  in  charge  of  the  little 
green  car  in  Marlborough  Street, — the  last 
of  all  the  horse-cars.  He  used  in  transit  to 
help  the  school-children  with  their  lessons, 
and,  once,  overhearing  a  wonder  as  to 
the  identity  of  a  passenger  who  had  just 
alighted,remarked,"Why,don't  you  know? 
That 's  Mrs.  So-and-So !  I  've  handled  her 
for  years !  "  Poor  man  !  He  came  to  a  vi- 
olent end  in  an  accident,  and  the  whole 
Back  Bay  still  misses  that  friendly,  con- 
siderate soul. 

Well,  as  we  were  saying,  the  derivation 
of  our  Trimountain  name  seemed  doubt- 
ful.  The  boys  often  discussed  the  ques- 
ts 


Boston  New  and  Old 

tion.  Three  hills,  certainly,  there  were, 
and  more;  but,  for  the  commemorative 
three.  Beacon  Hill,  Copp's  Hill,  and  Fort 
Hill  stood  most  in  evidence,  until  the  last, 
w^ith  its  brick  dwelling-houses  between 
Pearl  Street  and  the  sea,  was  obliterated 
by  the  march  of  commerce.  The  face  of 
nature,  elsewhere,  is  completely  changed; 
yet  we  are  assured  that  the  name,  "Tri- 
mountain,"  really  sprang  from  three  small 
summits  of  the  long  ridge  running  south- 
west through  the  centre  of  the  peninsula. 
Copley's  Hill,  or  Mount  Vernon,  was  the 
farthest  inland;  Beacon  Hill,  the  high- 
est, shorn  away  for  the  foundations  of  the 
State  House,  rose  in  the  centre,  and  to 
form  its  northeastern  slope,  the  third  peak, 
Cotton  Hill,  near  the  site  of  Pemberton 
Square,  was  graded  out  of  existence.  So 
that,  from  the  harbor  approach,  the  three 
hills,  merged  in  one,  stood  out  against  the 

14 


Trimountain 

western  sky  as  figured  upon  the  city  seal, 
crowned  by  the  State  House  dome  with 
its  flanking  spires. 

Close  at  hand,  on  Noddle's  Island,  the 
varied  industries  of  East  Boston  thronged 
at  the  sea-level,  while  above  them  stretched 
away  its  newly  settled  placid  streets  and 
squares.  Opposite,  on  the  edge  of  Charles- 
town,  the  shipbuilding  arks  of  the  Navy 
Yard  were  conspicuous  from  their  gigan- 
tic size.  Everywhere  along  the  city  water- 
front the  sea  made  in  irregularly. 

The  Long  Wharf  was  really  long,  with 
no  encumbering  sheds  or  landing-stages. 
Over  its  whole  length  one  looked  from 
State  Street,  past  the  wooden  sea-captain 
and  his  quadrant,  —  the  work  of  good 
Shem  Drowne,  —  out  into  the  harbor. 
Behind  it  nestled  old  T  Wharf,  then,  as 
now,  the  crowded  haunt  of  fishermen. 

On  the  other  hand  lay  Central  Wharf, 

15 


Boston  New  and  Old 

and  India  Wharf  beyond  it,  —  these  two 
distinguished  by  their  well-proportioned 
blocks  of  brick  warehouses,  built  early  in 
the  century.  Here,  at  Commercial  Wharf, 
too,  and  Lewis  Wharf,  came  in  the  mer- 
chantmen. The  lofts  and  ground-floors 
of  the  buildings  were  stored  with  pro- 
ducts of  the  Indies;  midway,  sunny  count- 
ing-rooms overlooked  the  water,  the  load- 
ing and  discharging  vessels.  There,  where 
the  merchants  spent  their  days,  the  wide, 
comfortable  spaces  fitted  with  time-hon- 
ored furniture,  with  paintings  of  clipper 
ships  upon  the  walls,  had  a  look  of  well- 
ordered  repose,  and,  between  cargoes,  were, 
indeed,  at  times  so  quiet  that  the  gentle 
lap  of  the  harbor-waves  could  be  heard 
against  the  wooden  piers  below.  There 
was  always  a  fragrance  of  mingled  spices 
in  the  air  which  tranquil  dignity  pervaded. 
They  had   their   rough-and-tumble  days, 

i6 


Fishing  Boat  at  Old  1*  IVharf 


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Trimountain 

to  be  sure,  when  bags  of  ginger,  cases  of 
nutmegs,  and  flat  bales  of  dusty  palm-leaf 
swung  up  from  the  hold  so  fast  that  the 
tally-clerks  lost  count,  confusion  reigned, 
and  tempers  went  by  the  board.  The 
troops  of  small  boys,  who  came  collect- 
ing foreign  postage-stamps  and  the  deco- 
rative shipping-cards  of  elaborate  design 
which  were  in  vogue,  must  have  been  a 
pestering  nuisance,  yet  were  civilly  en- 
dured. Only  a  few  ill-natured  consignees 
hung  out  signs  warning  off  these  youth- 
ful mendicants. 

Up  from  the  Long  Wharf  a  little  way, 
at  the  foot  of  State  Street,  stood  the  new 
Custom  House  with  its  colossal  Doric 
porticos  sombrely  grandiose  in  style,  yet, 
in  reality,  far  less  impressive  than  the 
graceful  brick  facade  of  the  Old  State 
House  at  the  street's  upper  end;  though, 
enamoured  of  costly  modern  construction 

17 


Boston  New  and  Old 

in  granite  and  marble,  most  of  us  would 
havedisputed  that  obvious  fact.  The  broad 
pavement  of  Commercial  Street,  improved 
and  widened,  opened  to  the  right  from 
the  northern  front  of  the  Receipt  of  Cus- 
toms, and  by  following  it  a  short  distance 
one  came  to  another  Doric  portico,  the 
eastern  end  of  Quincy  Market.  All  our 
public  buildings  of  the  early  nineteenth 
century  had  a  dash  of  Greek  in  them;  and 
this  one,  triumphantly  set  up  by  Mayor 
Quincy  in  1825  after  bitter  opposition, 
had  long  been  accepted  and  approved  as 
a  wise  extension  of  the  market-stalls  hud- 
dled in  and  around  Faneuil  Hall,  which 
uplifts  its  high-pitched  colonial  roof  and 
grasshopper  vane —  another  work  of  Dea- 
con Drowne  —  close  by ;  yet,  even  as  late 
as  I  860,  certain  rebellious  old-timers  stub- 
bornly refused  to  honor  Quincy's  expedi- 
ent with  his  name,  calling  it  Faneuil  Hall 

18 


Commercial  Street  from  the  Custom  House 


(^ 


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■-m 


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v"*^'. 


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>'?"•' 


Trimountain 

Market — "Funnel,"  as  pronounced  by 
them  —  to  the  last  gasp.  On  festal  occa- 
sions the  upper  rooms  of  the  Quincy 
structure  were  connected  with  Faneuil 
Hall  by  a  wooden  bridge  over  the  inter- 
vening street,  and  the  two  buildings  thus 
linked  together  served  as  one  for  exhibi- 
tion purposes.  The  malcontents  might 
have  made  this  an  excuse  —  though  a  poor 
one  —  to  ignore  their  foremost  citizen, 
not  Mayor  alone  but  President  of  Har- 
vard College,  whose  statue,  twenty  years 
later,  was  placed  in  front  of  City  Hall  as 
an  example  for  all  time. 

It  is  not  far  from  Quincy  Market  to  the 
very  heart  of  the  North  End,  where  were 
clustered  many  early  wooden  dwellings 
given  over  to  shops  and  tenements  of  the 
poorer  classes  swarming  in  the  narrow  ways. 
Toward  the  end  of  winding  Salem  Street, 
in  the  precincts  of  Christ  Church,  —  the 

19 


Boston  New  and  Old 

North  church  of  Paul  Revere's  lanterns, — 
the  peace  of  the  olden  time  seemed  sud- 
denly restored.  Hull  Street,  leading  from 
the  church  door  over  Copp's  Hill,  was  an 
undisturbed  bitoftheremote  past  that  bor- 
dered in  sedate  finality  the  colonial  burial- 
ground  which  slopes  away  from  it  toward 
the  river  mouth  and  Charlestown  on  the 
farther  shore. 

The  descent  of  steep  Snow  Hill  Street, 
solemn,  unfrequented,  led  back  into  the 
bustling  crowds  of  petty  traffic.  Thence, 
guided  by  forgotten  landmarks  through 
crooked  lanes  and  short  cuts,  one  finally 
emerged  at  the  Boston  Stone,  built  into 
the  wall  of  a  house  in  Marshall  Street. 
It  bears  the  date  of  1737,  and  its  precise 
significance  is  uncertain ;  but  it  seems  to 
be  the  American  counterpart  of  that  Lon- 
don Stone,  similarly  walled  into  Saint 
Swithin's  Church  near  Saint  Paul's,  from 

20 


Rainy  Day  at  ^incy  Market.    The  Flower  Stand 


J 


>*«■ 


,1 


.  ii  ,  ;  '■;  ,  ',"M  '■•'■■*■'   -5H 


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•iii'.idV.    --.^  .-'>■'■,   .^J  ■ 


Iffy 


Jfv 


»^?|,,»-'^^f^;t^ 


■f'R 


Trimountain 

which,  according  to  tradition,  distances 
formerly  were  reckoned. 

Beyond  the  Boston  Stone  it  was  only 
a  step  to  Brattle  Square.  Here  stood 
Brattle  Street  Church,  with  a  cannon-ball 
from  the  patriot  camp  of  1776  embedded 
in  its  front,  near  the  spot  where  it  had 
fallen.  Just  above  this  point,  where  once 
rose  Cotton  Hill,  North  and  West  Ends 
met.  The  ugly  excrescence  of  ScoUay's 
Buildings  intervened ;  but  drawn  apart 
from  that  disturbing  feature  were  the  uni- 
form house-fronts  surrounding  Pemberton 
Square,  which  opened  up  its  short  though 
intricate  approach  to  the  summit  of  Bea- 
con Hill.  And  there,  on  the  other  side, 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  below  the  trees  of 
the  Common,  came  in  the  water  again. 

The  Boston  of  those  days  was  like  the 
world  in  the  primary  geographies, —  one 
part  land   and   three   parts  water.    From 

21 


/ 


Boston  New  and  Old 

the  Back  Bay,  which  originally  encroached 
upon  the  Common,  only  the  Public  Gar- 
den and  Charles  Street  had  been  reclaimed. 
They  formed  the  irregular  shore  line.  The 
site  of  Arlington  Street  was  a  muddy  at- 
tempt at  a  beach;  and  southwestward^ 
toward  the  Roxbury  and  Brookline  hills, 
stretched  off  the  Bay's  watery  expanse 
across  which  from  the  foot  of  Beacon 
Street,  at  the  corner  of  the  Garden,  ran 
the  straight  causeway  of  the  Mill-Dam 
with  its  double  line  of  gray  poplar  trees, 
distorted  by  the  prevalent  wind.  Midway 
upon  it,  a  mile  out,  stood  a  low,  wooden 
ropewalk.  Ruined  mills  were  isolated  in 
the  shallow  water  on  the  southern  side; 
farther  to  the  south  crossed  intersecting 
lines  of  railway  bridges.  Beyond  them 
came  more  water,  vague  infinity  and  Bos- 
ton Neck,  —  the  original  narrow  isthmus 
of  the  peninsula,  much  widened  on  both 

22 


Trimountain 

the  bay  and  harbor  sides,  connected,  too, 
by  bridges  with  the  promontory  of  Dor- 
chester Neck,  renamed  South  Boston. 

Washington  Street,  with  an  omnibus- 
line  to  Roxbury,  had  once  been  the  only 
thoroughfare  on  Boston  Neck;  but  though 
parallel  streets  ran  out  all  the  way  over 
the  newer  land  it  was  still  called  the 
"Neck"  then  and  long  afterwards.  Pleas- 
ant squares  opened  on  either  hand  their 
ornamental  grounds  upon  which  blocks 
of  comfortable  houses  looked  down  ;  and 
strenuous  efforts  were  made  to  bring  the 
modern  quarter  into  favor.  One  stately 
dwelling,  recalling  within  an  eighteenth- 
century  chateau,  was  built  upon  the  old 
Neck  itself  in  a  walled  garden.  It  began 
to  look  as  if  the  fashionable  current  had 
set  that  way.  Then,  suddenly,  the  new 
impetus  was  checked.  Preferment  of  the 
Neck  and  the  neighboring  territory  wa- 

23 


Boston  New  and  Old 

vered,  declined  into  disfavor.  Fashion, 
defiant  of  natural  obstacles,  obedient  to 
its  own  mysterious  law,  at  a  bound  went 
westward,  as  in  London,  Paris,  and  many 
other  expanding  cities,  native  and  foreign. 
The  favored  quarter  at  the  close  of 
what  may  be  called  the  Trimountain 
epoch  abutted  upon  the  Common  and  in- 
cluded the  streets  leading  directly  thither, 
as  well  as  many  of  those  adjoining.  Bea- 
con Street,  with  the  old  stone  Hancock 
house  terraced  high  above  the  mall  ; 
Park  Street,  with  its  ample  frontages; 
Tremont  Street,  where  the  group  of 
houses  known  as  ^^ Colonnade  Row"  car- 
ried their  line  of  Tuscan  porticos  from 
West  to  Mason  Street;  all  these  had  the 
character,  distinction,  and  serenity  of  ear- 
lier days.  So  had  Hamilton  Place,  and 
Winter  Street.  Summer  Street,  once  a 
street    of  gardens,  of  fine  English    elms 

24 


Trimountain 

and  horse-chestnuts,  led  to  Church  Green, 
— approached  on  the  other  side  by  West 
and  Bedford  Streets,  —  taking  its  name 
from  the  New  South  Church,  a  much 
admired  work  of  Bulfinch.  Beyond  that 
bulwark.  Pearl  Street  and  Fort  Hill  had 
gone  the  way  of  business ;  but,  defended 
by  Church  Green,  Otis  Place  and  Win- 
throp  Place  still  held  their  own ;  Chauncy 
Street,  too,  Rowe  Place  and  Essex  Street, 
—  all  were  traditional.  Franklin  Place 
was  turning  into  Franklin  Street;  though 
Bulfinch's  crescent  of  Tontine  Buildings 
survived,  together  with  his  classic  urn,  in- 
scribed to  Franklin,  in  the  central  grass- 
plot.  This  memorial  now  marks  the  archi- 
tect's grave  at  Mount  Auburn. 

Temple  Place  was  the  nominal  centre 
of  the  inhabited  region  below  the  Com- 
mon. Its  handsome  houses  shut  outWash- 
ington  Street   at   a   higher  level ;   but   a 

25 


Boston  New  and  Old 

flight  of  steps  led  down  through  a  nar- 
row court  to  the  shops  of  the  main 
artery  between  Dock  Square  and  the 
Neck,  which  were  easily  accessible  yet  no 
disturbance.  Its  retirement  represented 
the  city's  aristocratic  pole  as  opposed  to 
the  plebeian  one,  —  thus  typically  intro- 
duced by  Holmes  into  his  poem  of  that 
day  and  generation  :  — 

"  And,  when  I  left,  Society 
Had  burst  its  ancient  guards. 
And  Brattle  Street  and  Temple  Place 
Were  interchanging  cards !  '' 

On  the  upper  side  of  the  Common, 
over  Beacon  Hill,  the  lines  of  excellence 
swerved  capriciously.  The  stables,  stone- 
yards,  and  foundries  along  the  rough 
river-shore  were  crowded  out  one  by 
one,  to  make  Charles  Street  under  its  lin- 
den trees  pleasantly  unpretentious,  peace- 
ful,  and  habitable.   Brimmer    Street    did 

26 


Old  Church  on  Charles  Street 


W 


;li. 


*   1,7,  .  .    -/  .,       J-  f  i    V 

^  ■•  *»*'•  •   ■  ' 
\c    -«:■■  -a 


^'^'fu/.. 


Trimountain 

not  exist.  There  was  much  vacant  land 
on  the  water  side,  giving  river  prospect 
even  to  the  houses  of  the  inner  one. 
Some  of  these  were  covered  with  climb- 
ing roses,  sweet-brier,  and  honeysuckle, 
around  which  humming-birds  poised  and 
darted  in  arcadian  security,  inconceivable 
now. 

The  northern  line  of  the  hill-district 
ran  up  Pinckney  Street  its  whole  length, 
forming  there  a  definite  barrier;  below 
it  was  a  region  of  tenement  houses  into 
which  Joy  Street  descended.  This  was 
the  limit  of  the  poorer  quarter.  The 
precincts  of  the  West  Church  on  Cam- 
bridge Street,  well-built  Hancock,  Tem- 
ple, Bowdoin,  and  Somerset  Streets  lead- 
ing toward  the  church  and  a  fashionable 
hotel,  the  Revere  House,  on  Bowdoin 
Square,  made  here  even  the  north  side 
of  the  hill  available. 

27 


Boston  New  and  Old 

Between  Pinckney  Street  and  the  Com- 
mon, along  the  hill-summit,  on  its  south- 
ern and  western  slopes,  strong  in  natural 
supremacy,  lay  the  sheltered  Boston  of 
tempered  winds  and  unexpected  glimpses 
of  the  river,  the  western  hills,  and  setting 
sun ;  the  Boston  of  Louisburg  Square, 
of  Chestnut  and  Mount  Vernon  Streets, 
culminating  in  the  wider  outlook  and 
gentler  slope  of  Beacon  Street,  open  to 
land  and  water  views,  —  the  street  "  that 
fronts  the  sun"  in  another  early  Holmes 
poem,  "  Contentment." 

Within  these  narrow  limits  which  seemed 
irrevocably  fixed,  as  they  were  nature's 
own,  our  "little  old"  Trimountain  was 
comprised. 


The  Old  Revere  House,  Bowdoin  Square 


,« 


^ 

'^I'v          A 

-     1 

^    ^^ 


-I 


^'4r 


\\ 


The  Navy  Tard  from  East  Boston 


"Timers  Inflictions 


\ 

t 


*5    "  --"j?''" 


v^  iW^H^ 


Ill 

TIME'S   INFLICTIONS 

ENTERING  now  by  that  same  harbor 
approach  after  all  the  changing  years, 
one  is  confronted  in  the  very  sky-line  by 
a  contrast  strange  indeed.  The  dome- 
crowned  summit  has  ceased  to  be  con- 
spicuous; the  attendant  steeples  are  swept 
away;  and,  though  the  city  seal  remains 
in  use,  the  Boston  reproduced  upon  it  has 
given  place  to  a  distorted  mass  of  tower- 
ing warehouses,  office-buildings,  and  reek- 
ing smoke-stacks  extended  far  and  wide. 
The  distortion  lacks,  thus  far,  that  almost 
phantasmagoric  beauty  with  which  similar 
hazardsof  time  andchangehave  endowered 
lower  New  York  when  the  lights  in  the 
tall  buildings  about  the  Battery  flash  up 
one  after  another,  as  we  draw  nearer  in 

31 


Boston  New  and  Old 

the  twilight  from  the  sea;  but  there  "all 
is  fortune";  for,  by  day,  no  more  harmony 
appears  in  the  interrelation  of  those  gigan- 
tic hives  of  commerce  than  in  our  own 
city,  or,  indeed,  in  any  other  afflicted  with 
the  heedless  rush  of  modern  civilization. 
It  is  only  gathering  darkness  that  lends 
enchantment  to  their  view. 

Upon  the  Boston  water-front  vast,  pro- 
gressive utilitarian  ugliness  has  settled 
down.  East  Boston  is  now  a  crowded  port 
of  arrival  and  departure,  with  acres  upon 
acres  of  docks,  railway  lines,  and  a  mam- 
moth grain  elevator  in  the  foreground.  A 
tunnel  cuts  into  the  quietude  of  Maverick 
Square,  obliterating  it;  and  such  old 
houses  as  the  neighborhood  retains  seem 
dismally  out  of  place  in  the  overcharged 
atmosphere. 

The  old  harbor-line  of  the  city  proper 
is  no  longer  distinguishable.   Its  wharves, 

32 


In  Central  Square,  East  Boston 


.X- 


4^ 


rT/"4^  ^  . 


Wi 


-^r--* 


-if 


^k 


Time  s  Inflictions 

curtailed  of  fair  proportion  by  a  connect- 
ing link,  the  wide  Atlantic  Avenue,  and 
covered  with  freight-shelters,  have  lost 
individuality.  T  Wharf  of  the  fishing- 
schooners  still  keeps  something  of  the  for- 
mer aspect  amid  incredible  alterations. 
The  once-admired  Custom  House  has 
dwindled  to  the  foundation  of  a  twen- 
tieth-century tower,  soon  to  dominate  sea 
and  land.  The  sidewalks  of  State  Street, 
where  the  merchants  met  "on  'Change," 
are  overshadowed  by  disproportionate 
strongholds,  beyond  which  the  Old  State 
House,  though  pathetically  dwarfed,  as- 
serts itself  in  triumphant  contrast.  De- 
prived of  its  monumental  steps  and  salient 
portico,  yet  otherwise  miraculously  pre- 
served and  perfectly  restored  within,  our 
Town  House  of  1747  stands  as  a  mute 
reminder  of  the  penalty  prosperity  exacts 
in  loss  of  distinction.    Many  times  threat- 

33 


Boston  New  and  Old 

ened  by  the  oft-recurring  destructive 
mania  which  has  annihilated  other  noble 
landmarks,  this  building  and  the  historic 
Old  South  Church  near  by  it  are  secure 
at  last,  thanks  to  the  patriotic  efforts  of 
certain  good  citizens  for  whose  persist- 
ence we  cannot  be  too  grateful. 

Why  did  not  we  keep  the  Province 
House,  too,  opposite  the  meeting-house  ?^ 
That  went  a  whole  century  ago.  Of  course, 
we  all  say  that  if  we  had  it  to-day  we 
should  keep  it ;  and,  perhaps,  with  the 
aid  of  Hawthorne's  genius  we  might  have 
carried  through  another  crusade,  had  no 
other  demand  been  urgent.  It  is  always 
possible  to  do  one  thing  at  a  time.  We 
have  still  the  queer  labyrinth  of  lanes  and 
courts  around  its  site,  which  has  lost  caste 
of  late,  so  that  all  trace  of  the  house- 
front  is  gene.  A  few  years  ago  we  could 
count   its  windows,  and   find   at   one   of 

34 


State  Street y  and  the  Old  State  House 


%fi. 


4'" 


T"  V 


f-..- 


-    -4- 


S^f*M  I--"  ^^^'iiP?  n| 


/'i 


r^l        WS^ 


% 


'-'.\ 


^\^r^; 


k>V' 


Time's  Inflictions 

them  Peter  Sergeant's  iron  balcony  with 
his  initials  wrought  into  it.  He  was  the 
builder,  anno  1667.  Its  next-door  neigh- 
bor in  point  of  date  as  well  as  situation 
is  the  shop-building  at  the  corner  of  School 
Street, — once  the  Old  Corner  Bookstore 
of  happy  memories.  That  was  built  just 
after  the  great  fire  of  171 1,  and  is  called 
the  oldest  brick  structure  in  Boston.  It 
is  horribly  made  over  now. 

Apropos  of  the  lanes  and  courts,  no- 
thing plays  the  mischief  with  them  sooner 
than  tall  buildings.  They  become  mere 
exits  and  entrances,  and  lose  all  character. 
There,  close  by,  is  Williams  Court,  nick- 
named "  Pie  Alley  "  from  its  numerous 
taverns.  Its  only  feature  left  is  the  Bell- 
in-Hand,  marked  by  a  wooden  hand 
swinging  a  bell  over  the  door.  The  sign 
bears  the  date  of  1795  and  was  set  up 
by  the  town  crier,  who   served  ale  in  the 

35 


Boston  New  and  Old 

pewter  when  there  were  no  lost  children, 
—  as  the  latest  incumbent  serves  it  to- 
day. 

Here  are  the  precincts  of  Quincy  Market 
showing  little  change.  The  long,  low  gran- 
ite building,  lined  with  stalls,  is  still  in 
daily  use,  and  over  Faneuil  Hall  Drowne's 
grasshopper  still  veers  with  every  wind. 
This,  the  North  End  ?  One  searches 
vainly,  at  first,  for  any  trace  of  colonial 
settlement  in  its  Babel  of  nationalities. 
Foreign  shops  and  signs  make  all  lines 
unfamiliar,  and  the  chatter  of  strange 
dialects  is  heard  everywhere.  Salem  Street 
has  become  a  teeming  Jewish  quarter; 
North  Square  is  a  breathing-place  —  a 
piazza — for  the  Italian  district,  where 
amid  uncouth  surroundings  stands  the 
house  of  Paul  Revere,  another  brand 
from  the  burning,  guarded  as  a  goal  of 
pilgrimage.   The  restoration  of  the  patri- 

36 


JVasbington  Street  from  top  of  ^'  Globe''  Building 


L-     4  ■{    * 


,1 


■^■■^ 


i.V' 


V^^a^ 


•  (/"^y  '"(5  >;  ^      ^/        . 


'>"   !       ,  ■», 


»*.^SW!   '. 


«  '?. 


■     'IE 


.7 


"    Y  i         r.  (  MM 


Time  s  Inflictions 

ot's  abode  has  been  careful  and  complete; 
aside  from  association  with  him  it  recalls 
vividly  the  life  of  the  time,  justifying  the 
enthusiasm  of  an  English  traveller  who 
lately  described  it  as  the  best  "sight"  in 
Boston. 

Once  more  at  Christ  Church  of  the 
lanterns,  marked  now  by  a  commemora- 
tive tablet,  we  step  back  into  the  past. 
The  peace  of  Hull  Street  yet  abides  there, 
though  its  single  row  of  house-fronts  is 
painfully  modernized.  The  graveyard 
where  theMathers  lie  entombed  is  changed 
only  in  its  view,  which  now  includes  a 
park  in  the  immediate  foreground  at  the 
water's  edge,  —  a  well-planned  outlet  of 
the  neighborhood,  much  needed,  much 
frequented.  Change  and  improvement 
here  have  gone  hand  in  hand. 

In  city  graveyards  of  early  date  what 
compelling    fascination    there    is    for  old 

37 


Boston  New  and  Old 

and  young  alike  !  A  few  years  ago,  when 
we  underwent  a  convention,  its  Western 
delegates  swarmed  in  the  Granary,  King's 
Chapel,  and  other  consecrated  grounds  to 
take  "  squeezes  "  of  the  inscriptions,  un- 
til the  turf  was  trampled  into  dust.  They 
had  never  looked  upon  anything  so  old! 
We,  who  have  such  antiquities  near  at 
hand,  take  them  more  calmly,  but  admit 
the  charm,  which  is  partly  due,  no  doubt, 
to  the  sextons  in  charge,  moss-grown  and 
hoary  as  they  are,  with  the  very  slant  of 
the  headstones,  —  their  absorbing  interest. 
If  not  antiquarian  by  nature,  they  soon 
become  so  through  habit.  The  shepherd 
of  Copp's  Hill  has  all  his  flock  at  his 
tongue's  end.  He  talks  of  them  as  if  they 
lived,  and  on  their  account  resents  the  de- 
cline in  Hull  Street.  Just  over  there,  only 
yesterday,  stood  a  wooden  house  in  its 
garden,  once  the  headquarters  of  General 

38 


City  Hall  from  the  Roof-tops 


i] 


iVl^V 


t.  rj^. 


"-1-^ 


■     l^;_'g.-^V, 


4 


■'W- 


%  .T 


^vlJfl 


Time  s  Inflictions 

Gates.  It  has  gone;  everything  is  going; 
they  don't  care  for  us  as  they  should. 
When  his  neighbor  sextons  come  to  call, 
they  count  their  sheep,  sigh,  and  shake 
their  heads.  There  are  few  reinforce- 
ments nowadays. 

One  such  neighbor  of  his,  just  across 
the  park,  over  in  Charlestown,  keeps  his 
fold  on  Burial  Hill,  a  wonderful  little 
spot  of  greenery  hemmed  in  by  houses, 
like  a  City  of  London  churchyard.  Some 
of  its  stones  were  shattered  on  Bunker 
Hill  day,  —  the  first;  and  it  has  a  monu- 
ment to  John  Harvard,  though  he  does 
not  lie  underneath.  His  burial-place  is 
uncertain,  but  the  faithful  shepherd,  who 
bears  the  wonderfully  sympathetic  name 
of  Lydston,  is  sure  of  finding  him  there 
in  some  grave  of  that  enclosure  as  yet 
unmarked.  If  he  can  but  discover  John 
Harvard's  bones    and    thereby   prove  his 

39 


Boston  New  and  Old 

contention,  he  will  die  happy.  Peace  to 
all  the  tenants  before  and  after  him  and 
to  their  ashes ! 

Turning  from  Snow  Hill  Street  into 
the  old  paths  of  intricacy  through  bewil- 
dering haunts  of  foreign  immigration,  one 
may  proceed  to  rediscover  crooked  little 
Marshall  Street  and  the  Boston  Stone. 
Beyond  it,  through  expansion  and  ad- 
vancement, all  seems  suddenly  to  go  up  in 
air.  Brattle  Street  Church  is  non-existent 
and  forgotten.  Scollay's  Buildings  have 
been  levelled;  and  around  their  site  busi- 
ness blocks,  huge,  unrelated  masses,  dark- 
ening streets  too  narrow  for  them,  cut  into 
the  sky.  Court  Street  has  become  a  lane, 
upper  Beacon  Street  a  dim  crevasse;  down 
the  vista  of  Tremont  Street,  under  walls 
that  replace  the  well-remembered  Boston 
Museum,  the  simple  strength  of  King's 
Chapel,  seen  from  Scollay  Square  islanded 

40 


Old  Buildings  in  North  Square 


v^U  Wa) 


^ 


fV'vL 


^f  »•-,:.' 7 


,>f,-.*Ht»f!, 


'•^ 


Wti 


Time  s  Inflictions 

among  its  graves,  is  a  refreshment  to  the 
eye,  but  sadly  out  of  scale.  One  hurries 
through  Pemberton  Square,  oppressed  by 
the  swollen  bulk  of  the  Court-House  and 
its  dependencies  where  the  lawyers  make 
skyward  for  light  and  air  in  rushing  ele- 
vators, to  come  upon  the  Athenaeum 
crowded  by  domineering  neighbors,  that 
having  despoiled  it  of  dignity  seem  to  be 
elbowing  it  away.  A  few  steps  more  bring 
light,  air,  and  distance,  —  the  beautiful 
slope  of  the  Common  over  which  there- 
strained  front  of  the  State  House,  Bul- 
finch's  masterpiece,  admirably  placed,looks 
down.  At  once,  all  seems  traditional,  en- 
deared to  the  mature  native  by  earliest 
association  \  yet,  in  reality,  apart  from  the 
terraced  seat  of  government  and  one  or 
two  more  survivals  of  his  fond  remem- 
brance, a  new  city  opens  up  before  him. 
He  will  speedily  become  aware  of  this 

41 


Boston  New  and  Old 

if  he  lingers  for  a  stroll  in  the  old  Com- 
mon, where,  two  centuries  ago,  "gallants 
were  wont  to  walk  with  their  marmalet 
madams,"  and,  even  in  his  own  youth, 
along  some  narrow,  shady  path  he  could 
seek  retirement  and  find  it.  Halfway 
down  the  incline  he  will  shrink  instinct- 
ively from  the  havoc  wrought  upon  the 
lower  side,  where  there  is  no  longer  a 
boundary  other  than  that  of  the  mon- 
strous, incoherent  Tremont  Street  front- 
age in  which  Saint  Paul's  Church  has 
suffered  worse  indignities  than  the  Athe- 
naeum. The  Tremont  Street  Mall,  once 
shaded  by  giant  elms,  now  broils  in  the 
sun,  a  paved  trottoir ;  no  other  word  than 
the  imported  one  will  adequately  describe 
it.  In  the  Common  and  yet  out  of  it,  ab- 
surdly rechristened  "Lafayette  Mall,"  it  is 
neither  mall  nor  sidewalk,  but  a  glaring 
platform   between   subway  exits  and  en- 

42 


Timers  Inflictions 

trances,  except  in  their  use  to  be  avoided. 
To  anglicize  the  French  word,  it  is  a 
"trottery," — no  more,  no  less.  As  he 
turns  from  it  the  native  stroller  may  glance 
at  the  spire  of  Park  Street  Church  taper- 
ing above  the  trees,  to  be  grateful  that, 
though  a  line  of  shop  fronts  has  trans- 
formed the  street,  ^^  Brimstone  Corner" 
still  is  there,  and  to  recall  vi^ith  a  smile, 
perhaps,  its  ancient  legend.  Of  that  Mr. 
Howe,  in  his  interesting  ^^  Boston  Com- 
mon," prints  a  rhymed  version;  but  it 
used  to  be  transmitted  by  word  of  mouth 
somewhat  as  follows:  — 

"The  Wind  and  the  Devil,  newly  ar- 
rived, walked  together  long  ago  in  Boston 
streets,  and  coming  upon  Park  Street 
Church  stopped  before  it  with  admiration. 
^A  fine  place,  that!'  said  the  Devil;  ^let 
us  step  inside  to  inspect  it ! '  '  Nay,  Brother 
Nick,'    replied    the    Wind,    ^go    thou   in 

43 


Boston  New  and  Old 

alone,  and  welcome,  while  I  tarry  for  thee 
here  without.'  The  Devil  entered,  accord- 
ingly; but  in  that  sanctified  spot  over  him 
was  cast  a  sudden  spell  which  he  could 
not  remove.  He  tried  in  vain  to  get  out; 
and  the  Wind  has  waited  for  him  on  Park 
Street  Corner  ever  since." 

Who  are  "  wont  to  walk  "  now  in  Gov- 
ernor Winthrop's  ''  trayning-ground"  ? 
Some  of  it  is  left.  There  is  the  scene  of  the 
Quaker  executions,  circa  1660,  and,  in  the 
next  century,of  young  Woodbridge's  fatal 
duel,  touchingly  recorded  by  the  Auto- 
crat, who  made  his  own  Long  Path  from 
Joy  Street  to  Boylston  Street  memorable. 
There,  and  there  again,  were  the  fortifica- 
tions of  the  siege  of  1775.  Here,  in  later 
times,  the  Governor  of  Massachusetts 
annually  ^^took  his  seat"  on  the  Parade 
Ground,  where  Lafayette  reviewed  our 
militia,  where  the  volunteers  of  the  Civil 

44 


Park  Street  Church  from  Lafayette  Mall 


(L  V 


1&;^ 


"^''A 


■]f^ 


;?' 


Timers  Inflictions 

War  encamped  and  were  mustered  out. 
Here  is  the  Frog  Pond,  where  all  our  dogs 
went  "in  swimming,"  except  on  one  day 
of  the  week.  "  No  Dogs  Allowed  in  This 
Pond  on  Sundays"  used  to  be  the  curb- 
sign,  which  was  removed  about  the  time 
that  Saturday  night  performances  were 
first  permitted  in  our  old  Museum,  the 
orthodox  theatre;  and  that  was  not  until 
the  year  1871.  Here  is  that  other  Long 
Path  from  Park  Street  to  West  Street,  the 
best  coast  in  the  world,  if  the  boys  only 
knew  it!  Here,  in  short,  are  all  our  ac- 
cumulated memories,  intimate,  public, 
private;  the  storehouse  is  packed  with 
them. 

But  who  walks  there  any  more,  using 
"walk"  in  its  larger  sense  o{ v^i^S^-taking? 
It  is  generally  a  loafing-ground,  where 
to  take  a  walk  would  be  distasteful,  — 
and  for  some  at  all  hours  it  remains  only 

45 


Boston  New  and  Old 

that.  One  wonders  how  there  happen 
always  to  be  so  many  of  this  leisure  class ! 
For  others,  it  has  become  a  restless  foot- 
way refreshingly  open  to  sky,  air,  and  sun- 
shine, yet  a  mere  cross-cut  between  the 
new  city  in  the  west  and  the  darkened 
channels  of  trade  leading  to  commerce 
and  the  sea.  Inevitable  result  of  growth 
in  population  !  The  Common  could  not 
move  westward  like  the  course  of  empire. 
Lying  where  it  did,  it  is  "downtown" 
now,  itself;  one  must  look  farther  for 
even  an  approach  to  seclusion. 

Early  on  some  spring  or  summer  morn- 
ing, when  for  the  moment  tranquillity  is 
restored,  the  old  charm  revives.  After 
years  of  defacement  and  neglect,  the  place 
holds  something  of  its  ancient  beauty,  to 
enter  now,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  through  the 
inherited  Parkman  millions,  upon  years 
of  regeneration.   They  have  put  up  in  it 

46 


Timers  Inflictions 

a  graceful  temple  of  music,  a  la  Watteau, 
already.  It  is  a  good  sign.  But  with  con- 
stant care  and  an  edict  against  asphalt, 
we  could  afford  to  take  our  adornments 
sparingly.  The  Common  is,  or  was,  its 
own  best  decoration. 

Turning  through  that  corner  gate, — 
the  only  one  remaining,  —  we  perceive 
at  once  that  Charles  Street  has  fallen  into 
evil  days.  Its  trees  are  gone;  it  has  lost 
all  semblance  of  picturesqueness.  Many 
cheerful  dwellings  are  replaced  by  shops, 
or  given  over  now  to  ^^ careless  ruin"  on 
that  broad  highway  of  thunderous  traffic 
from  which  the  householders  have  nearly 
all  departed.  Yet  here  and  there  pleasant 
traces  linger  of  the  former  state,  deserv- 
ing recognition.  Since  the  memorial  tab- 
let is  now  high  in  favor,  a  fitting  one 
should,  certainly,  be  placed  upon  the  front 
of  Number  1 1  o,still  outwardly  unchanged, 

47 


Boston  New  and  Old 

where  once  lived  John  Albion  Andrew, 
our  great  "  War-Governon"  And  a  little 
farther  on,  outwardly  and  inwardly  the 
same,  is  the  famous  "long  drawing-room" 
which  enshrines  all  that  was  best  of  Bos- 
ton in  many  good  old  times, — the  Boston 
that  Thackeray  likened  to  an  English  cathe- 
dral town,  that  Dickens  loved;  the  Boston 
of  great  New  England  names;  of  others, 
too,  before  and  after  them.  This  gener- 
ous hospitality  was  theirs  once;  here  they 
dropped  in  for  breakfasts  as  rare  as  those 
renowned  in  London  of  the  poet  Rogers ; 
or,  in  the  golden  light  of  afternoon,  looked 
westward  across  the  lawn,  through  trees 
that  then  were  young,  upon  the  river 
and  the  sunset.  Their  portraits  are  on 
the  walls;  first  impressions  of  their  books 
lie  close  at  hand,  with  their  own  marginal 
notes  upon  the  clearly  printed  pages ; 
their   letters,   too,  their   manuscripts.   To 

48 


Timers  Inflictions 

pass  from  the  noise  and  dust  into  that 
radiant  treasure-house  of  precious  mem- 
ories is  to  become,  like  Tennyson's  heroic 
wanderer,  "  a  part  of  all  that  we  have 
met  "  in  all  our  choicest  reading.  In  that 
quiet  haven  the  tidal  wave  without  sweeps 
by,  disregarded.  It  is  not  a  room,  but  a 
sanctuary  ! 


Bridge  in  the  Public  Garden 


Time^  s  Amendments 


f  ',:■  f  :"ViF^:'^•'^u=• 


i" 


in^t. . 


-xsT'* 


IV 
TIME'S   AMENDMENTS 

CONTINUALLY  to  commend  the 
old  at  the  expense  of  the  new  is  a 
melancholy  piece  of  business, — yes,  and 
wearisome.  The  past  is  past;  and  though 
we  may  learn  its  lesson,  which,  probably, 
will  avail  us  little  rather  than  much,  it  is 
never  to  be  recovered  with  any  backward 
footsteps.  Our  only  course  is  to  push  on 
unceasingly.  We  can  but  cry,  "  Forward, 
march!"  and  be  alert,  as  we  keep  moving. 
Time  works  wonders  of  good  as  well 
as  of  evil,  and  has  showered  upon  Boston 
favoring  gifts  with  liberal  hand.  Near  by 
is  one  of  the  best, —  the  Public  Garden, 
that  pleasing  intervale  encompassed  by 
what  is  old  and  what  is  new,  which  in 
the  olden  time  that  we  like  to  call  golden 

53 


Boston  New  and  Old 

was  little  better  than  a  wilderness,  where 
the  strolling  circus-rider  in  the  spring- 
time pitched  his  tent  and  trampled  down 
his  ring.  Here  the  camels  are  coming,  as 
we  foretold.  The  desert  of  their  years 
was  the  vacant,  sandy  tract  filling  in  the 
Bay,  which  turned  but  slowly  into  streets. 
The  wooden  Coliseum  for  the  Peace  Ju- 
bilee in  1869  stood  where  Trinity  Church 
now  is,  and  we  approached  it  through 
acres  of  desolation. 

Of  the  many  springs  that  have  blos- 
somed over  the  Garden  since  that  time 
each,  in  turn,  added  some  beauty  to  it. 
Fine  specimens  of  flowering  trees  shade 
its  winding  walks,  and  its  borders  glow 
continuously  with  the  colors  of  the  rain- 
bow in  swift  succession.  Its  straight  cen- 
tral path  fulfils  the  ever-present  need  of 
a  cross-cut  for  hurrying  toilers,  who  thus 
leave  the  rest  in  comparative  repose.   Cer- 

54 


In  the  Public  Garden 


^"rh^^j:^^ ■},(%.  >) 


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\  ..'■     \  ¥ 


■^^>•^Vi 


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Timers  Amendments 

tain  of  its  decorative  features  might  be  re- 
formed or  done  away  with,  yet  none  can 
be  said  to  offend.  The  gates  are  never 
closed;  well  planned,  well  tended,  it  is  a 
constant  delight  to  the  eye.  The  view  of 
it  and  the  Common  beyond,  with  Ball's 
really  good  equestrian  Washington  in  the 
foreground,  as  one  enters  the  city's  heart 
from  the  westward,  opens  up  a  splendid 
effect  of  surprise,  unsurpassed  anywhere. 
In  short,  both  for  site  and  for  general 
arrangement,  a  better  example  than  this 
of  the  civic  garden  it  would  be  hard  to 
find. 

Looking  west  from  the  Garden,  we 
perceive  at  once  the  sky-line  of  Arlington 
Street, — the  only  perfect  street-line  in  all 
the  city.  This  is  said  to  have  originated 
with  Richard  Morris  Hunt,  years  before 
the  uniformity  of  lines  at  the  Columbian 
Exhibition  impressed  itself  upon  all  be- 

55 


Boston  New  and  Old 

holders.  We  saw,  we  approved  its  impor- 
tance in  Chicago,  only  to  dismiss  the 
scheme  as  a  practical  impossibility.  Nei- 
ther there  nor  elsewhere  —  except  in 
Washington,  under  government  control 
—  is  the  advantage  of  such  lineal  agree- 
ment realized.  The  landed  proprietor  ac- 
cepts professional  guidance  only  for  his 
own  direct  benefit,  generally  with  no  con- 
sideration of  his  nearest  neighbor.  For 
all  our  latter-day  enlightenment,  we  create 
in  this  regard  lamentable  confusion;  and 
when,  by  some  fortunate  circumstance,  a 
good  result  has  been  secured,  we  proceed 
to  destroy  it.  Even  now,  the  line  of  Ar- 
lington Street,  carefully  considered,  just- 
ly admired,  has  been  sacrificed,  is  going. 
There  is  no  law  of  taste  to  stay  the  van- 
dal's hand. 

At   Arlington    Street  begins    the    new 
city,    built    where     the    tide-water    once 

56 


Time  s  Amendments 

ebbed  and  flowed.  Out  toward  the  west, 
streets  of  handsome  houses  run  straight 
for  the  first  mile,  or  more.  The  con- 
tinuation of  Beacon  Street,  overlooking 
on  the  north  side  Charles  River  Basin, 
follows  the  old  Mill-Dam  which  one 
hoary,  contorted  poplar  tree  recalls.  The 
names  of  Marlborough  and  Newbury 
Streets  descend  from  eighteenth-century 
Boston,  where  they  were  attached  to  suc- 
cessive divisions  of  what  now  is  Washing- 
ton Street.  They  have  thus  local  aptness 
which  is  not  always  recognized.  Between 
them  is  Commonwealth  Avenue,  most 
favored  of  Boston  streets  in  its  restric- 
tion from  shops  and  a  central,  shaded 
parkway.  The  distinguishing  feature 
there  is  a  fine  Romanesque  church-tower 
of  Richardson ;  but  on  either  hand  are 
many  interesting  house-fronts  by  McKim 
and  others,  the  best  of  them  in  their  re- 

57 


Boston  New  and  Old 

straint  reminiscent  of  an  earlier  time. 
Near  the  Somerset  Hotel,  at  the  entrance 
of  the  Fenway,  the  Avenue  bends  to  pro- 
long itself  far  beyond  the  city  limits  and 
wind  out  among  the  hills  in  that  subur- 
ban region,  still  beautiful,  of  easy  access 
on  all  sides,  which  contributes  much  to 
Boston's  pleasurable  resources. 

The  cross-streets  that  come  at  regular 
intervals  with  high-sounding  names,  orig- 
inally stigmatized  as  pretentious,  conform 
in  their  initial  letters  to  the  order  of  the 
alphabet, — Arlington,  Berkeley,  Claren- 
don, Dartmouth,  and  so  on.  They  have 
acquired  so  many  associations  that  the 
critics  have  in  a  measure  forgotten  the 
charge.  The  system,  however  defective  it 
may  be  in  this  instance,  is  certainly  more 
convenient  and  more  harmonious  than 
the  numerical  one  employed  in  many 
American    cities.   Their   names   grew   up 

58 


Path  in  the  Fenway 


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■1- 


<.;f-  -" 


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■cj,  '^  ^u  ' 


%i 


a:^' 


m 


Time  s  Amendments 

with    them,    and   are    mere    matters    of 
course  now, 

Dartmouth  Street,  followed  southward, 
leads  to  Copley  Square,  an  open  area  in 
the  midst  of  all  this  new  construction, 
which  is  commonly  called  the  Back  Bay 
from  the  circumstances  of  its  origin.  The 
square  was  awkwardly  laid  out  with  the 
odd  effect  of  narrowing  it,  at  first  sight, 
to  a  triangle, —  a  fault  long  since  ad- 
mitted, and  so  often  discussed  that  its 
correction  by  simple  means  can  be  but  a 
question  of  time ;  especially  as  with  the 
city's  rapid  growth  this  point  will  soon 
lie  at  its  very  heart.  Boylston  Street, 
given  up  to  modern  shops,  intersects  it 
on  the  northern  side.  Huntington  Avenue, 
leading  to  Horticultural  and  Symphony 
Halls,  the  Conservatory  of  Music,  the 
Opera  House,  and  Museum  of  Fine  Arts, 
begins   at   the   southwestern   corner.   Be- 

59 


Boston  New  and  Old 

tween  these  outlets,  facing  the  square  on 
the  west,  stands  the  beautiful  Public 
Library  of  McKim,  in  the  style  of  the 
Italian  Renaissance,  already  overtopped 
and  injured  in  its  lines  by  structures  of 
later  mushroom  growth  beyond  it.  On 
the  site  of  the  old  Art  Museum,  occupy- 
ing nearly  all  the  southern  side,  is  a  new 
hotel  in  modified  Renaissance.  Richard- 
son's masterpiece.  Trinity  Church,  Ro- 
manesque in  design,  faces  the  Library  on 
the  east,  so  well  detached  that  a  fine  view 
of  it  may  be  obtained  from  many  points; 
the  "New  Old  South"  Church  at  the 
northwestern  corner,  with  a  lofty  bell- 
tower,  is  of  North  Italian  Gothic.  In  the 
disjointed,  haphazard  scheme,  set  all  awry, 
one  must  study  each  building  separately 
to  admire  it.  That  is  always  possible,  ex- 
cept upon  the  northern  boundary  of  dis- 
figuring shops  and  offices,  which  are  so  far 

60 


New  Old  South  Church,  Copley  Square 


a.. 


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Time  s  Amendments 

from  admirable  that  they  must  yield  ere 
long  to  something  else;  with  what  bizarre 
result  none  may  foresee. 

Beyond  Hereford  Street  comes  wide, 
wind-swept  Massachusetts  Avenue,  run- 
ning northward  over  Harvard  Bridge 
through  Cambridge  and  Arlington  far 
out  among  the  hills.  Near  by,  at  the 
Charlesgate,  begins  the  Fenway, — alow- 
lying  combination  of  stream,  marshland, 
foot  and  bridle  path,  designed  by  the  elder 
Olmsted  to  provide  for  the  overflow  of 
Stony  Brook  and  Muddy  Creek,  two  mi- 
nor tributaries  of  the  Charles  which  were 
troublesome  in  times  of  flood.  The  limi- 
tations of  the  narrow  strip,  stretching  in- 
determinately south  and  wxst,  have  been 
cleverly  disguised  by  judicious  planting 
of  shrubs  and  shade  trees.  Along  its 
borders  are  groups  of  fine  buildings ;  that 
of  the  Massachusetts    Historical   Society, 

6i 


Boston  New  and  Old 

and  the  adjoining  Medical  Library,  be- 
yond which  the  white  dome  of  the  Chris- 
tian Science  Church  rises  against  the  sky; 
the  Museum  of  Fine  Arts,  and  its  luxu- 
rious neighbor,  that  private  museum,  dis- 
playing its  rare  collection  within  the 
walls  of  a  Venetian  palace,  built  around 
a  garden-court  wondrous  in  its  scheme; 
Simmons  College,  and  the  Harvard  Medi- 
cal School  with  its  broad  esplanade,  to 
which  an  adequate  approach  has  been 
furnished  in  the  new  Avenue  Louis  Pas- 
teur. 

In  one  of  Miss  Beatrice  Herford's  en- 
tertaining monologues,  a  member  of  the 
new  "  Let-It-Alone  Club  "  explains  the 
purpose  of  its  association ;  namely,  to 
"  look  for  something  which  is  getting 
along  perfectly  well,  and  then, — just  let 
it  alone  !  "  Would  that  more  and  many 
of  us  might   be    admitted   to  that  club  ! 

62 


Christian  Science  'Temple  from  the  Fenway 


■'^-, 


fiMi" 


1^1^^; 


Timers  Amendments 

—  for  reluctance  to  let  things  alone  is 
one  of  our  most  exasperating  Yankee  fail- 
ings. We  take  the  utmost  pains  to  build 
up,  only  inconsiderately  to  tear  down 
again.  Here,  now,  a  part  of  this  orna- 
mental Fenway  plantation  has  fallen  un- 
der the  destroyer's  hand  for  a  detrimental 
diversion  of  the  architect's  careful  plan  to 
other  uses.  Prevention,  rather  than  pos- 
session, would  be  nine  points  of  our  law, 
could  we  but  accomplish  it.  Alas!  the  date 
of  the  millennium  no  longer  is  deter- 
mined; though  all  may  hope  for  that 
blissful  state,  none  now  makes  ready  his 
ascension-robe. 

Meanwhile,  for  a  brief  moment,  there 
is  nowhere  a  pleasanter  short  walk  than 
that  along  the  Creek  branch  of  the  Fen- 
way through  Longwood  to  Brookline ; 
and  this  is  but  the  direct  means  of  access 
to  our  series  of  parks,  which  includes  the 

63 


Boston  New  and  Old 

shores  of  Jamaica  Pond,  the  Arnold  Ar- 
boretum, Franklin  Park,  and  the  wilder 
Metropolitan  Reservation  of  woodland 
that  surrounds  Blue  Hill;  supplementing 
them,  to  make  full  circle,  are  the  Marine 
Park  at  South  Boston,  Beaver  Brook  with 
the  Waverley  Oaks,  and  the  tract  of  hill, 
dale,  and  wilderness  known  as  the  Mid- 
dlesex Fells  on  the  north.  Fortunately, 
these  are  not  wholly  at  the  mercy  of 
rapidly  shifting  political  administrations. 
Vigilant  commissions  do  their  best  to  de- 
fend the  entire  system  and  its  approaches 
from  disfigurement.  Great  natural  ad- 
vantages were  bestowed  upon  us.  Their 
wise  adaptation  to  the  needs  of  a  grow- 
ing community  is  recognized,  wherever 
known. 

Our  latest  acquisition  in  this  kind  for 
the  public  benefit  is  the  completed  Espla- 
nade along  the  shores  of  Charles  River  Ba- 

64 


'The  Esplanade^  Harvard  Medical  School 


•It, 


if^ 


^ 


ti# 


.;S;:;r''  V^i'^r^^^-fyr-^ 


\i 


Timers  Amendments 

sin,  behind  Beacon  and  Brimmer  Streets. 
The  wasted  opportunities,  there,  formed  a 
subject  of  discussion  through  many  years, 
—  fifty,  at  least;  for  just  before  the  fiU- 
ing-in  of  Commonwealth  Avenue  began, 
during  the  late  fifties  of  the  last  century, 
a  small  but  persistent  group  of  citizens 
eagerly  urged  a  water-way,  crossed  by 
bridges  at  intervals,  in  place  of  a  central 
mall  along  it.  The  suggestion  came  from 
the  Alster-Basin  at  Hamburg,  views  of 
which  were  submitted  with  the  proposed 
plan.  Despite  all  endeavor  of  the  active 
minority,  that  project  failed,  and  the  park- 
way was  laid  out,  as  it  now  stands.  The 
open  basin  remained  for  possible  improve- 
ment,which  languished,  however,  through- 
out a  generation;  until  the  first  step  was 
taken  in  the  opening  of  the  Charlesbank, 
as  that  portion  of  the  embankment  skirt- 
ing   Charles    Street    below  West  Boston 

65 


Boston  New  and  Old 

Bridge  is  called.  Provided  with  public 
playgrounds  and  open-air  gymnasia,  which 
found  immediate  favor,  it  continues  to 
be  the  resort  of  an  outlying  over-popu- 
lous quarter.  Its  much-desired  extension 
awaited  the  building  of  a  dam  below  the 
bridge  to  exclude  tide-water  and  regu- 
late the  river's  height.  With  these  intro- 
ductory measures  accomplished,  the  work 
was  resumed  and,  notwithstanding  vigor- 
ous opposition,  was  carried  through  most 
successfully,  as  even  the  opponents  must 
now  concede. 

Following  the  water's  level  between  the 
new  West  Boston  and  the  Harvard  Bridges, 
with  a  wide-extended  outlook  ever  varying 
in  atmospheric  effects,  the  Charles  River 
Esplanade  has  become  the  favorite  walk 
of  all  classes  at  all  times  and  seasons.  In 
spring  and  autumn,  boatmen  flash  by  the 
railing  with  gleaming  oars ;  far  out  on  the 

66 


Timers  Amendments 

lagoon  flocks  of  white  sea-fowl  settle 
down;  and  in  midwinter  the  ice  is  thronged 
with  skaters.  The  old  Hill-town,  in  a  new 
aspect,  through  the  long  streets  opening 
up  from  the  embankment  to  the  State 
House  dome,  closes  the  eastern  prospect. 
Westward  are  the  heights  of  Brookline, 
seen  dimly  through  the  morning  haze,  a 
study  in  gray-and-silver,  or  sharply  out- 
lined and  aglow  with  color  under  the  de- 
clining sun.  At  dusk,  the  lamps  of  the 
bridges  send  their  shafts  of  light  into  the 
depths  below,  after  the  Venetian  manner. 
Here,  new  color-schemes,  in  all  terms  of 
music  from  aubade  to  nocturne^  are  in- 
vented daily.  Here,  all  triumphs  of  Whist- 
ler and  Monet  are  outdone. 

To  follow  up  the  walk  behind  the 
imposing  walls  of  Bay  State  Road  at  its 
acute  angle  is  to  make  the  scene  still 
more    comprehensive.     The    Cambridge 

67 


Boston  New  and  Old 

shore,  where  the  finished  embankment 
runs  far  up  the  river,  is  largely  vacant, 
problematic;  but  the  new  acres  of  the 
Institute  of  Technology  below  Harvard 
Bridge  promise  a  long  river-front  and 
landing,  suggesting  glorious  architectural 
possibilities.  The  step  that  costs  there  is 
already  taken. 

At  any  hour  of  the  day  one  may  turn 
from  the  whirling,  dusty  street  to  the 
quiet  Esplanade  and  find  refreshment 
where  motors  never  come.  It  has  lived 
down  its  detractors.  Even  the  most  recal- 
citrant abutters  who  resented  invasion  of 
their  privacy  will  in  the  end  agree  that 
this  was  not  one  of  our  mistakes,  though 
we  are  human  and  have  made  many, 
Heaven  knows!  We  have  lost  some  price- 
less things;  have  bartered  some,  through 
greed;  ignorantly  have  squandered  others. 
We  cannot  help  it  now,  and  the  night  is 

68 


Time  s  Amendments 

young,  for  all  that.  As  they  said  of  aid 
in  the  melodrama  that  delighted  us,  "Up, 
Lancers !  "  Let  us  move  on.  "  Though 
much  is  taken,  much  abides." 


Old  House  on  Beacon  Street 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 


DWELLERS    ON   THE  HILL 

ONE  tempted  to  assume  a  righteous 
gift  of  prophecy,  when  transition 
fairly  set  in,  might  easily  have  found  there 
incontestable  proof  that  the  Hill  as  a 
dwelling-place  was  destined  to  speedy 
degradation,  if  not  to  abandonment;  he, 
surely,  could  not  have  foreseen  that,  by 
a  happy  caprice  of  fortune,  something  very 
like  the  contrary  would  occur.  The  hab- 
itable quarter  on  the  northern  slope,  cut 
off  by  the  extension  of  the  State  House 
and  the  encroachment  of  other  public 
buildings,  has  changed  character,  it  is  true, 
to  become  lost  ground,  forlorn,  with  a 
debatable  future.  That  of  the  rest  seemed 
equally  doubtful  while  the  summit  was  in 
a  state  of  upheaval.   The  new  inhabitants 

73 


Boston  New  and  Old 

of  the  new  houses  in  the  new  streets 
toward  the  west  shook  their  heads  and 
made  disparaging  remarks  concerning  an- 
tiquity, remoteness,  decay,  and  downfall ; 
but  certain  old  inhabitants  stood  firm, 
even  though  their  neighbors  moved  away, 
declaring  that  their  houses  were  ancestral 
and  dated  from  a  time  when  all  builders 
were  conscientious,  self-respecting;  that, 
if  distance  must  be  considered,  the  Hill 
was  directly  in  the  way,  not  out  of  it; 
and  that  no  amount  of  scoffing  should 
impel  them  to  part  with  their  inheritance. 
Nevertheless,  many  doors  were  closed;  the 
placard  of  the  broker  hung  in  the  dusty 
windows;  lodgers  came  and  went ;  fashion 
looked  askance ;  and  the  trend  of  the 
conditions  was  downward. 

Little  by  little,  however,  the  novelty 
of  settlement  upon  the  manufactured 
land  wore  off,  and  a  younger  generation 

74 


Dartmouth  Street,  corner  of  Commonwealth  Avenue 


msi 


*  I 


S  h    . 


'0f' 


f 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

sprang  up  to  rediscover  that  the  Hill 
had  practical  advantages  together  with  a 
definite  charm;  that  it  had,  moreover,  a 
long-established  climate,  less  blustering 
and  less  gritty  than  the  new  one  of  the 
fashionable  quarter.  Unexpectedly,  one 
small  wave  halted,  settled  back,  and  with 
a  rush  swept  up  the  Hill,  gathering  im- 
petus and  volume  in  its  course;  it  became, 
indeed,  not  so  much  a  question  of  going 
as  of  getting  there  at  all,  since  occupancy 
was  limited.  The  advancing  wave  flooded 
the  highways  and  the  by-ways  also ;  and 
as  those  upon  the  crest  of  it  happened  to 
be  gifted  with  an  artistic  sense,  they  treated 
their  new  possessions  appreciatively,  in- 
stead of  pulling  them  down,  happily  re- 
storing them.  The  imitative  sheep  who 
had  followed  their  lead  in  the  backward 
flight,  promptly  followed  likewise  their 
example,  as  if  to  prove   that    they,   too, 

75 


Boston  New  and  Old 

knew  a  good  thing  when  they  saw  it. 
The  fortunate  result  is  that  the  wide, 
western  slope  of  the  Hill  stands  now 
much  as  it  stood  in  the  pleasant  days  of 
old,  helped  rather  than  impaired  by  a 
spruce,  almost  jaunty  air  of  rejuvenation. 
Strangely  enough,  it  was  Beacon  Street 
that  suffered  most  in  the  long  period  of 
doubt  and  difficulty ;  old  Beacon  Street, 
over  against  the  Common,  with  its  superb 
view  which  reminds  every  Englishman  of 
that  from  Piccadilly  across  the  Green  Park, 
and  must  force  him  to  admit  that  ours, 
if  less  extensive,  is  the  fairer  of  the  two; 
Beacon  Street,  where  stood  upon  its  ter- 
races the  house  of  Governor  Hancock, 
which  should  have  been  made  an  official 
abode  for  his  successors.  That  went  in 
war-time,  when  the  patriotic  impulse  that 
would  have  saved  it  now  was  diverted  to 
distressing  needs.   Aggressive  examples  of 

76 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

modern  architecture  crowded  out  simple, 
unassuming  detail,  breaking  the  agreeable 
sky-line  which  ruthless  apartment-build- 
ers turned  into  an  eyesore.  Trade  crept 
down  below  the  State  House,  and  shop- 
windows  began  to  appear  in  first-floor 
rooms.  They  are  still  there,  but  through 
tacit  concession,  have  generally  been  man- 
aged with  such  reserve,  that  they  ofi'end 
the  eye  less  than  one  had  reason  to  fear. 
Fully  half  the  good  old  houses  remain 
intact,  —  among  others  those  of  Prescott, 
the  historian,  and  Parkman,  the  benefactor 
of  the  Common,  the  latter  newly  inscribed; 
here  is  the  very  balcony  from  which,  in 
Victoria's  heyday,  we  boys  saluted  the 
Prince  of  Wales  who  waited  so  long  to 
become  Edward  VII,  as  he  rode  down 
the  street  on  the  best  black  horse  that  the 
State  could  furnish ;  here  are  the  same 
gate-posts  which  we  climbed  to  cheer  the 

77 


Boston  New  and  Old 

thinned  ranks  of  our  regiments,  march- 
ing home  from  the  war;  there,  opposite 
the  Shaw  monument,  is  the  stone  platform 
before  the  State  House,  where  Governor 
Andrew  tenderly  took  leave  of  them, 
when  their  ranks  were  filled,  and  they 
marched  away.  O  memory !  ^olian  harp 
that  breathes  its  plaintive  refrain  into  our 
ears,  whether  we  will  or  no  I  And  yet 
without  remembrance  what  were  life?  It 
may  be  that  the  worst  is  over,  that  reac- 
tion has  set  in,  even  that  some  of  the 
damage  already  done  will  in  the  end  prove 
reparable. 

However  that  shall  be,  one  need  turn 
but  a  few  steps  aside  to  rejoice  in  and 
strengthen  early  associations.  Those  old 
houses  at  the  top  of  Pinckney  Street  stand 
as  they  did  endwise  to  the  sidewalk,  with 
their  quaint  door-yards  running  back  ir- 
regularly beneath   sturdy  ailanthus  trees. 

78 


The  State  House^  looking  up  Park  Street 


\^^"\V6  A'v 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

The  same  bricks  of  many  colors  are  under- 
foot ;  the  same  worn  granite  curbstones 
with  their  deep-cut,  cabalistic  crosses, 
whose  meaning  was  never  clear,  perplex 
us  now.  That  fan-lighted  door  has  never 
been  remodelled.  Here  the  narrow  street 
plunges  straight  down  to  the  river  in  the 
old  sharp  pitch,  and  Anderson  Street,  to 
the  right,  falls  off  still  more  abruptly  to 
the  distant  Bulfinch  front  of  the  Hospital 
far  below.  Down  a  little,  opens  to  the  left 
Louisburg  Square,  a  precinct  within  a  pre- 
cinct, having  laws  unto  itself,  strictly  main- 
tained by  the  householders.  The  slender 
fountain  has  been  removed  from  its  shaded 
ellipse,  but  the  statues  of  Columbus  and 
Aristides  mount  guard  over  it  at  either 
end,  as  rigid  as  the  laws  themselves.  It  is 
too  late  now  to  wonder  what  motive  gov- 
erned the  choice  of  the  heroic  Genoese 
and  just  Athenian   as   tutelary  spirits   of 

79 


Boston  New  and  Old 

the  place ;  they  were  roughly  moulded, 
of  a  century-old  garden  type  ;  time-worn 
and  weather-stained,  they  have  become 
venerable  relics,  part  and  parcel  of  the 
square,  like  the  antiquated  iron  barrier 
defending  its  thick  turf  from  every  hu- 
man foot,  or  the  stout,  satisfactory,  red- 
brick houses.  Howells,  our  honored  Dean 
of  Letters,  lived  once  at  Number  4,  on 
the  lower  side;  and  at  Number  20,  Jenny 
Lind  was  married  to  Otto  Goldschmidt 
in  the  year  1851.  The  steps  down  which 
she  passed  upon  her  wedding-journey 
might  guide  her  back  to-day. 

The  spreading  elms  and  horse-chest- 
nuts arch  over  wide  Mount  Vernon  Street, 
framing  in  the  belfried  church  at  the  foot 
of  the  Hill,  the  river  and  the  western  sky 
beyond.  Its  long  line  of  frontage  stand- 
ing apart  behind  terraced  lawns  has  an 
air  of  dignified  reserve,  sustained  by  an- 

80 


In  Louishurg  Square.    House  where  Jenny  Lind  was  married 


1  <  ■■a'''-3j'*^3  fBI 


i'         U./i'''^'' 


tfii^'  -^i^^:^ 


y:^M^^' 


•^'^ 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

cient  rights  of  way  and  stern  restrictions. 
The  opposite  range  of  low  buildings  never 
can  be  carried  higher;  under  one  of  those 
ground-floor  domiciles  runs  a  dark  pas- 
sage, through  which  cows  were  once  driven 
to  graze  upon  the  Common;  and  this  path 
is  still  kept  open,  though  there  are  no 
longer  cows  to  profit  by  it.  On  the  north 
side,  lived  Mrs.  Sarah  Wyman  Whitman, 
of  high  artistic  achievement,  never  to  be 
dimmed;  of  noble  public  spirit  and  rare 
gift  of  friendship,  fondly  remembered; 
and  Thomas  Bailey  Aldrich,  poet  and 
story-teller  of  surpassing  charm,  the  nim- 
blest frolic  wit  that  ever  flashed  across  a 
dinner-table.  Driveways,  forecourts,  and 
gardens,  oddly  disposed,  give  a  sense  of 
space  and  of  individual  arrangement  when 
there  was  room  to  spare.  The  peculiar 
character  of  the  street  pervades  its  adjacent 
dependencies,  Walnut  Street  and  Mount 

8i 


Boston  New  and  Old 

Vernon  Place;  even  the  deep  defile  of 
Acorn  Street,  whose  single  row  of  pictur- 
esque, shallow  houses,  built  in  a  good 
period,  has  lately  been  reclaimed  and  re- 
stored. 

If  Mount  Vernon  Street  is  the  most 
dignified  in  the  self-respecting  Hill-town, 
Chestnut  Street  may  be  called  its  most 
genial  one.  On  that  gracious  slope  sun- 
shine seems  always  to  settle,  slanting  in 
among  the  linden  leaves.  There  is  no 
aloofness  in  the  fine  old  doors  and  win- 
dows and  graceful  open  porches,  which 
look,  rather,  as  if  they  were  pressing  for- 
ward with  hospitable  intent  to  give  assur- 
ance of  a  kindly  welcome  within.  Every- 
thing about  them  is  carefully  kept  up  in 
the  polished  neatness  of  a  Dutch  town, 
suggesting  common  agreement  and  the 
intimate  relations  of  a  long-established 
neighborhood.  Many  of  the  ampler  fronts 

82 


In  Old  Mount  Vernon  Street 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

have,  too,  a  uniformity  of  style,  dating 
from  the  street's  first  days  and  making 
them  sharers  in  all  its  history.  Were  that 
chronicled,  much  merry  hospitality  would 
figure  in  it,  together  with  many  a  well- 
remembered  name.  Francis  Parkman  lived 
there  long ;  Edwin  Booth  was  tenant  for 
a  time ;  other  tenants  early  and  late  are 
not  forgotten.  Generation  has  succeeded 
generation,  transmitting  cheerfulness.  In 
spite  of  ripened  age,  there  are  no  haunted 
houses. 

Connected  with  the  street,  however,  is 
one  strange  circumstance  of  a  supernat- 
ural cast,  never  fully  explained.  Once,  it 
was  said  that  a  ghost  walked  there, — dis- 
creetly, having  the  good  taste  to  come  in 
broad  daylight;  and  thus  does  the  story 
detach  itself  clearly  from  the  background 
of  remembrance:  — 

Eighty  years  ago,  or   more,  on  a   fine 

83 


Boston  New  and  Old 

October  morning,  two  girls  sat  sewing  in 
a  chamber-window,  halfway  up  the  Hill. 
One  of  them  had  just  become  engaged; 
and,  glancing  from  her  needlework,  her 
younger  sister  saw  passing  the  house  on 
the  opposite  sidewalk  the  figure  of  a  man, 
whom  she  took  to  be  her  prospective 
brother-in-law. 

^^Look!"  she  said,  "there  's  George!" 
"It  can't  bel"  answered  the  other. 
"George  is  in  the  country  on  an  all-day 
shooting  expedition.  He  was  to  start  two 
hours  ago;  and  yet, — why,it  is  he, surely!  " 
Instantly,  as  if  to  remove  all  doubt, 
the  man  looked  up,  recognized  them, 
smiled,  and  bowed ;  then  passed  on,  to 
turn  and  smile  once  more.  The  sisters 
accepted  the  fact  of  his  presence  through 
some  unexpected  delay,  and  dismissed 
the  thought  of  it.  But  at  that  hour,  in 
the  country,  the  lover  was   killed   by  the 

84 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

accidental  discharge  of  his  shot-gun  as  he 
climbed  over  a  wall.  Was  the  passer-by 
an  unknown  double  in  the  fleshy  turn- 
ing up  coincidently  in  Chestnut  Street, 
never  to  be  seen  again  ?  Or  was  it  the 
familiar,  well-authenticated  wraith  of  Ger- 
man legend  ?  All  the  characters  in  this 
good  Boston  one  have  passed  on  now 
down  the  street;  the  living  are  numbered 
with  the  dead,  and  we  shall  never  know. 
The  ghosts  that  walk  by  day  there  now 
are  neither  dreadful  nor  mysterious,  but 
only  such  as  may  gather  round  each  one  of 
us  in  some  spot,  tenderly  recalled,  when 
our  steps  turn  back  into  it.  Dim  at  times, 
at  times  distinct,  they  smile  upon  us  from 
the  doors,  or  greet  us  as  they  pass  with 
cheery  voices.  While  they  draw  near,  our 
hearts  beat  higher,  with  a  warmer  welcome; 
we  grow  gay,  expectant,young  in  their  com- 
panionship.   They  are  the  friendly  spirits, 

85 


Boston  New  and  Old 

invisible  to  the  boatman,  that  crossed  the 
ferry  with  the  poet,  Uhland,  —  illusions 
not  lost,  but  gained,  bringing  with  them 
a  gift  akin  to  second  sight,  the  power  to 
conjure  up  what  was  happiest  and  best  in 
bygone  years. 

"Soul-like  were  those  hours  of  yore  — 
Let  us  walk  in  soul  once  more  !  '' 

But  to  make  the  most  of  that  profitable 
encounter,  one  must  walk  over  the  Hill 
alone. 

While  the  city  surges  round  them, 
the  dwellers  on  the  Hill  cling  tenaciously 
to  the  traditions  of  a  neighborhood  and 
maintain  them  with  an  earnestness  un- 
matched in  most  communities.  They  have 
their  own  pleasant  manners  and  customs, 
their  neighbor-parties  and  neighbor-clubs. 
On  Christmas  Eve,  all  their  windows  are 
lighted  up,  and  organized  bands  of  "waits" 

86 


Dwellers  on  the  Hill 

sing  carols  at  the  doors.  Their  influence 
extends  throughout  the  whole  of  what  may 
be  called  their  tree-plantation,  whether 
it  be  named  Chestnut,  Walnut,  Willow, 
Spruce,  Acorn,  Cedar,  or  the  newgrafted 
Lime  ;  and  it  has  spread  to  that  subsidiary 
region  at  the  Hill's  foot,  artfully  dovetailed 
along  the  river-embankment, — to  Brim- 
mer Street,  three-cornered  Mount  Vernon 
Square,  and  many-angled  Otis  Place ;  so, 
onward,  into  its  latest  embellishment, 
Charles  River  Square,  that  modern  exam- 
ple of  the  good  which  may  be  wrought 
by  artistic  house-grouping,  as  successful 
in  its  simple  way  as  the  mellowed  cres- 
cent of  an  English  Georgian  town. 

The  force  of  the  Hill's  reviving  wave 
was  cumulative,  has  never  slackened,  is 
likely  to  hold  and  endure;  every  sign 
confirms  it.  With  all  dwellers  on  the  Hill, 
old  and  new,  we  clink  the  glasses  hospit- 

87 


Boston  New  and  Old 

ably  held  out  to  us,  and,  rising,  pledge 
them  in  a  toast:  Health  to  them  while 
they  live,  and  lasting  remembrance  when 
they  are  gone ! 


Boy  Is  ton  Street  from  Charles  Street 


Afv>\\ 


"The  Soul  of  the  City 


^- 


^. 


^^ 


VI 
THE   SOUL   OF   THE    CITY 

WE  have  heard  a  Yankee  village 
maxim,  tersely  put,  veiling  pro- 
found truth  in  the  vernacular,  to  the  ef- 
fect that  ^^  There  's  as  much  difference  in 
some  folks,  as  there  is  in  anybody."  One 
may  paraphrase,  perhaps,  if  not  translate 
its  oracular  emphasis  in  the  more  familiar 
terms  of  another  New  England  adage, 
namely,  "It  takes  all  kinds  of  folks  to 
make  a  world."  Now,  in  a  broader  sense 
than  generally  appears,  each  community 
is,  in  itself,  a  world;  the  smaller  being  a 
reflection  of  the  greater,  as  in  a  concave 
glass;  all  the  more  impressive  because  at 
close  range  we  may  peer  into  the  cup 
and  study  its  minutiae  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage.  Some  of  these  are  sure,  at  first, 

91 


Boston  New  and  Old 

to  assume  exaggerated  importance,  ob- 
scuring a  larger  view;  yet  the  longer  we 
look,  the  clearer  will  be  our  vision;  and 
if  we  take  time  to  wait  until  the  nearer 
cloud  drifts  by,  it  will  be  to  find  closer 
and  closer  resemblances  amid  the  worlds 
we  know.  One  star  may  differ  from  an- 
other star  in  glory,  but,  with  due  allow- 
ance made,  the  stars  are  wonderfully  alike, 
after  all. 

Here  is  a  case  in  point,  —  a  minor  one; 
an  atom  of  star-drift  among  many  well 
suited  to  adorn  a  tale^  Every  one  recog- 
nizes an  inordinate  passion  in  the  Bos- 
tonian,  especially  of  the  softer  sex,  for 
attending  lectures.  It  has  been  the  theme 
of  many  a  quip.  ^^^I  am  going  to  a  lec- 
ture, sir,'  she  said,"  ran  the  old  parody 
of  "My  pretty  maid!"  And  the  maiden's 
sisters  rush  from  one  discourse  to  another 
with  a  vehemence  that  provoked  one  of 

92 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

our  first  citizens  wittily  to  call  Boston 
women  mere  "devotees  of  opportunity." 
Only  yesterday,  one  of  them  asserted  In 
all  seriousness,  "  I  do  just  love  a  lecture,  — 
on  anything!''  Undoubtedly,  this  craving 
for  the  free,  "popular"  conference  is 
genuine;  deeper,  too,  and  more  widely 
diffused,  as  one  might  swear,  than  any- 
where else  in  all  the  world. 

Who  would  imagine,  for  an  instant, 
that  our  New  England  ardor  for  absorb- 
ing instruction  of  any  kind,  gratis,  could 
be  matched,  nay,  even  surpassed  sur  les 
hords  de  la  Seine  f  Yet  it  is  a  fact  that  we 
know  not  its  full  capacity  until  we  have 
seen  the  Parisians  compete  for  places  at 
the  Sorbonne;  or  crowd  some  lesser  court 
of  the  Louvre  at  Reinach's  course  on  Art, 
until  hundreds  are  turned  back,  while 
those  who  have  pushed  on  are  content, 
—  women,  before  all,  —  if  the   seats   are 

93 


Boston  New  and  Old 

filled,  to  sit  upon  the  floor  rather  than 
give  up  the  game  I  Did  any  one,  man  or 
woman,  ever  sit  upon  the  floor  for  an 
hour  at  the  Lowell  Institute  ?  If  so,  no 
mention  of  the  fact  has  yet  been  made. 

In  the  face  of  such  an  instance  how 
shall  we  discriminate,  how  deduce,  how 
draw  conclusions,  where  the  desire  of  get- 
ting something  for  nothing  is  concerned? 
"  At  night  all  cats  are  gray,"  and  human 
nature  seems  to  difi'er  only  in  degree 
through  all  the  possible  worlds.  For  there, 
too,  is  that  supreme  self-complacence  of 
ours,  which  the  wise  men  have  touched 
upon,  the  paramount  importance  of  our 
own  affairs  suggested  by  "Hub"  and 
<^  Solar  System"  references.  Paris,  again! 
Never  was  man  so  enveloped  in  an  earthly 
scene  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else,  as  the 
Parisian  in  his  Boulevard.  He  refuses  to 
look  beyond  it  in  art  or  literature.   The 

94 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

new  comedy  at  the  Francais,  the  drama 
at  the  Vaudeville,  the  latest  ^^vient  de 
paraitre  "  of  the  publisher,  the  current  pic- 
ture-exhibition of  ^' les  Epatants  "  bound 
his  horizon.  And  how  about  our  super- 
lative rapture  over  the  passing  foreign  nov- 
elty? Why,  that  is  London,  pure  and 
simple.  Did  not  the  world's  metropolis 
lose  its  head  over  "Bison  Jack,"  until  he 
became  for  a  time  the  boon  table-com- 
panion of  "lords,  dukes,  and  earls"? 
Their  West  End  comes  nearer  true  loy- 
alty than  ours,  because  it  is  larger ;  as  the 
late  Mr.  Travers  stammered  more  at  home 
than  in  Baltimore,  because  New  York 
was  a  "b-big-g-ger  place!" 

New  York  has  mad  raptures  also,  which 
prove  different  only  in  kind  when  we  get 
at  them;  but  it  is  hard  to  distinguish 
specks  in  a  whirlpool;  whereas,  Boston  is 
so  set  up  on  its  little  hill  that  it  cannot 

95 


Boston  New  and  Old 

be  hid.  They  ^'spot"  us  easily,  and  make 
their  little  joke.  When  after  desperate 
pangs  of  labor,  aided  by  a  deft  accoucheur y 
we  gave  birth  at  last  to  an  Opera  House, 
and  were  pleased  with  it,  the  Empire  City 
looked  at  us  languidly  through  the  large 
end  of  the  glass,  and  cracked  its  merriest 
jest  of  all:  "An  Opera  House?  Ah,  yes; 
the  first  Unitarian !  "  We  can  forgive  them 
much  for  that ! 

One  minor  perplexity  of  theirs  we 
should  like  to  unravel,  if  that  were  possi- 
ble, for  they  hurl  it  at  our  heads  insistently 
whenever  they  come  our  way;  but  we 
confess  that  the  solution  is  not  easy.  They 
look  down  the  broad  Back  Bay  streets 
where  few  are  passing,  to  inquire  for  our 
handsome  women ;  and  turn  into  the 
busy  marts  of  retail  trade  to  note  the 
crowd  innumerable  of  female  faces  hurry- 
ing  by,  the   pale,  the  keen,  the  dull,  the 

96 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

careworn,  and  the  stolid, —  all  unlovely, 
— to  repeat  their  pointed  question,  "Your 
handsome  women,  where  are  they?  We 
know  you  have  them,  for  we  see  them  in 
New  York,  and  the  type  is  unmistakable. 
Once  again,  where  are  they?"  Not  there; 
the  Bostonian  is  equally  cognizant  of  the 
peculiar  fact,  and,  remembering  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, perceives  here  the  contrasting  lack- 
lustre eyes;  but  he  is  conscious,  too,  that 
these  are  but  myrmidons  of  the  Amazon- 
ian force  swarming,  for  a  market-day,  in 
overwhelming  numbers  from  an  endless 
chain  of  surrounding  hamlets,  provincial 
cities,  and  suburban  towns.  They  spread 
themselves  abroad,  even  as  their  rallying- 
place  overspreads  the  land ;  for  Boston 
was  not  built  upon  the  elongated,  narrow 
island  of  Manhattan,  and  here  is  no  re- 
stricted line  of  march,  into  which  all  life 
is  compressed,  serving  as  mart  and  prom- 

97 


Boston  New  and  Old 

enade  in  one ;  like  that  of  Fifth  Avenue, 
let  us  say,  from  Thirtieth  Street  to  Fifty- 
ninth  Street,  where  no  Amazon  may 
escape  inspection,  however  lovely  or  un- 
lovely she  may  be.  As  for  the  emptiness 
of  that  first  endeavor,  do  but  take  the 
trouble  to  look  at  upper  Madison  Avenue, 
or  even  upper  Fifth  Avenue  along  the 
Park  on  some  fine  day,  and  cease  from 
troubling.  There  may  be  found  far-trail- 
ing architectural  splendors,  all  vacant, 
like  our  own. 

Herein  somewhere,  it  may  be,  lies  the 
key  to  New  York's  insoluble  enigma. 
We  hope  so.  For  men  are  men,  whether 
Trojan  or  Tyrian,  and  love  to  look  on 
comeliness.  Try  the  Esplanade,  next  time, 
good  Imperial  explorer,  on  your  eager  way 
to  the  Limited  Train! 

To  consider  more  feelingly,  what  are 
our   dominant    characteristics    that    have 

98 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

been  the  idle  sport  of  other  cities  ?  Those 
whereof  we,  ourselves,  are  partially  con- 
scious, those  which  the  friend's  sharp  eye 
discerns  ?  Puritan  intolerance,  of  course; 
the  historians  dwell  upon  that,  and  we 
come  by  it  naturally,  if  we  happen  to  be 
neither  Czechs  nor  Huns.  Self-satisfaction, 
and,  as  some  say,  overweening  pride  of 
place  and  the  before-mentioned  engross- 
ing interest  in  our  own  petty  concerns, 
mingled  with  a  tendency  to  '^  know  it 
all,"  the  world  over.  Longfellow  notes 
in  his  journal  for  1853  that  the  Boston- 
ian  commonly  speaks  ^^as  if  he  were  the 
Pope."  Arrogance  consequently,  over-de- 
velopment of  the  critical  faculty,  and  a 
sniffing  nil  admirari  attitude,  suddenly 
veering  to  feverish  fanaticism  in  the  em- 
brace of  strange  religions.  All  storm- 
beaten,  wandering  barks  of  faith  are  sure 
of  finding,  at  least  temporary,  refuge  here. 

99 


Boston  New  and  Old 

A  fondness  for  "  causes "  of  all  sorts,  in- 
volving argument  and  wrangling  among 
ourselves  in  their  defence,  or  otherwise. 
Finally,  high  temper  and  tenacity  which 
lead  to  private  bickering  and  clannish 
feuds. 

All  this  goes  to  the  debit  of  the  ac- 
count; on  the  aggressive  side,  ^^these  are 
our  troubles,  Mr.  Wesley,"  which  those 
^^gi'en  the  giftie  "  affect  to  see  in  us.  It 
may  be  a  true  bill;  these  failings  are  very 
human,  and  some  among  them  we  have 
heard  of  before  in  stars  beside  our  own. 

In  other  cases,  perhaps,  it  were  well  to 
note  in  passing  that  only  excess  of  the 
stated  quality  is  deplorable.  Taken  in 
moderation,  it  might  even  slip  over  to 
the  credit  side  of  the  account  and  rank 
among  the  virtues.  Pride  of  place,  for  in- 
stance ;  for  proper  admiration  of  that  we 
need   not  look  into   Sir  Walter's  ''  Min- 

lOO 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

strel."  Absorption  in  our  own  affairs,  if 
it  goes  far  enough,  may  make  an  unex- 
pected appeal  to  the  intelligent  onlooker, 
and  be  hailed  by  him  as  public  spirit. 
There  was  a  question  once  concerning  a 
bronze  fountain  for  the  court  of  our  Pub- 
lic Library,  —  a  question  of  fitness.  On  a 
certain  Sunday  noon  the  court  was  thrown 
open,  that  all  who  would  might  consider, 
in  sitUy  the  eff^ect  of  the  group,  which  had 
been  offered  for  the  place  by  the  Library 
architect,  McKim.  At  the  appointed  hour 
an  animated  crowd  assembled  there,  view- 
ing the  fountain  from  all  points,  discuss- 
ing, praising,  criticising.  The  scene  was 
interesting,  not  only  from  the  occasion 
but  from  the  character  of  the  assemblage, 
made  up  of  all  ranks,  including  some 
"great  ones  of  the  city."  Unknown  to 
the  crowd,  McKim,  himself,  with  a  com- 
panion, Saint-Gaudens,  watched  the  pro- 

lOI 


Boston  New  and  Old 

ceedings  from  a  small  loop-hole  under  the 
eaves.  When  he  came  down,  his  first  re- 
mark was,  "  I  don't  care  whether  they 
take  it,  or  not.  It  is  amazing  to  see  in  an 
American  city  so  much  genuine  feeling 
upon  an  artistic  problem  !  The  fine  thing 
about  Boston  is  that  when  a  matter  of 
this  sort  comes  up,  it  proves  always  to  be 
a  burning  question."  It  is  all  very  well  to 
call  that  issue  now  a  tempest  in  a  tea-cup, 
but  the  habit  of  alertness  in  matters  re- 
latively unimportant  is  a  good  one  to  ac- 
quire, and  does  not,  necessarily,  mean  clos- 
ing the  eyes  upon  the  more  vital  ones. 

The  habit  of  laying  down  the  law  with 
an  assumption  of  papal  authority  is  a 
rasping,  pedagogic  annoyance,  the  natural 
foible  of  those  who  devote  ardent  thought 
to  educational  interests  and  facilities;  and 
in  these  Boston  has  never  been  behind- 
hand.  Witness,  the   many   sarcastic   allu- 

I02 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

sions  to  the  ^^  Athens  of  America"  and 
that  worn-out  caricature  of  the  Boston  in- 
fant, all  spectacles  and  frontal  protuber- 
ances, prattling  glibly  in  the  dead  lan- 
guages. To  be  twitted  with  our  attainments 
is  to  have  tribute  paid  to  their  manifesta- 
tion. And  man  is  never  perfect.  If  he 
strives  with  ^< clear  spirit"  for  high  things, 
he  cannot  hope  to  escape  altogether  some 
"infirmity  of  noble  mind"  in  the  process. 
That  is  a  minor  consideration,  at  best. 
Let  him  consider  his  critics  in  reflective 
moments,  and  correct  it,  if  he  can. 

As  to  affection  for  "causes,"  we  strain 
a  point,  evidently,  at  times,  to  keep  our 
minds  wide  open,  believing  it  better  to  be 
in  the  van  than  in  the  rear.  Somebody 
has  to  rush  into  the  "imminent  deadly 
breach";  and  who  so  fit  for  that  as  your 
Athenian? 

Without  high  temper  and  tenacity  no 

103 


Boston  New  and  Old 

deed  of  worth  was  ever  done;  but  over- 
indulgence in  the  insane  root  may  bring 
results  supremely  ludicrous.  There  were 
two  spirited  citizens  of  the  old  school, 
who  once,  at  a  funeral,  fought  over  the 
family  portraits  hanging  upon  the  walls  in 
the  house  of  the  departed.  One  found 
them  ugly  beyond  belief;  the  other,  a 
shade  nearer  in  relationship,  thought  his 
words  insulting,  and  said  so  ;  whereupon 
the  first  repeated  them  with  emphasis. 
They  grew  red  as  turkey-cocks, and,  walk- 
ing up  the  path  to  the  grave,  while  the 
dispute  waxed  high,  were  obliged  to  part 
company  before  they  reached  it.  That  is 
a  typical  Boston  story.  The  two  were 
old  friends  who  had  long  worked  together 
for  the  good  of  the  State,  which  owes 
them  much.  The  fit  passed,  of  course, 
and  they  woke  from  its  fury  to  laugh  at 
themselves. 

104 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

In  dealing  with  the  credit  side  of  the 
long  account,  we  need  not  go  into  par- 
ticulars. In  philanthropy,  in  medicine, 
in  surgery,  in  scientific  research,  in  en- 
couragement of  the  arts,  in  readiness  to 
share  the  national  burden  at  the  earliest 
moment,  the  record,  such  as  it  is,  stands 
there  upon  the  open  page.  Let  us  "give 
God  thanks,  and  make  no  boast  of  it." 
Especially  as  those  who  take  the  lead 
have  ever  been  leaders  also  in  the  modesty 
of  their  example.  One  citizen,  for  im- 
provement of  musical  taste  and  know- 
ledge, quietly  gives  us  one  of  the  fore- 
most orchestras  in  the  world,  and  maintains 
it  for  a  generation.  Another,  when  nar- 
row-minded legislators  refuse  aid  to  our 
Museum  of  Fine  Arts  which  has  outgrown 
its  resources,  places  unhesitatingly  a  for- 
tune at  its  disposal.  A  third,  by  his  mu- 
nificence,   makes    the    first    three    opera 

105 


Boston  New  and  Old 

seasons  possible.  How  many,  lacking  gold 
to  give,  give  golden  time  in  place  of  it, 
serving  week  in,  week  out,  upon  tire- 
some commissions  freely,  seeking  neither 
reward  nor  approval!    Sic   vos   non   vobis 

So     YE     LABOR     NOT     FOR    YOURSELVES — - 

might  be  writ  large  upon  that  credit 
page,  if  they  would  have  it  so.  They  see 
the  work  to  do,  and  do  it,  simply,  earn- 
estly, without  an  afterthought.  There,  be- 
tween the  lines,  is  the  soul  of  the  city, 
which  he  who  runs  may  read.  It  is  our 
own  fault  if  the  souls  we  all  possess  do 
not  rise  up  in  honest  emulation. 

We  may  not  hope  by  that  means,  or 
any  other,  ever  wholly  to  escape  the  cor- 
ruption of  party  politics.  Every  form  of 
government  has  curses  attached  to  it,  and 
this  is  one  of  ours.  There  was  once  a 
year  when  our  officials  were  discovered  to 
be  drinking,  daily,  "champagne  in  pitch- 

io6 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

ers  "  out  of  the  city  cofFers,  and  we  cured 
them  of  that  extravagance.  Evil  times 
come  and  go,  and  they  will  come  again. 
But  forewarned  is  forearmed.  To  watch 
with  open  eyes  is  half  the  battle. 

In  days  of  old,  "  before  the  war,"  when 
the  pioneers  met  in  the  Far  West,  it  was 
deemed  a  good  thing  to  "hail  from  Bos- 
ton." They  who  did  turned  their  thoughts 
eastward  and  compared  notes  about  it, 
longingly.  There  are  those  to-day,  not 
native  here,  who  express  the  same  long- 
ing with  no  such  distant  encounter  for 
provocation.  Here  are  some  symptoms  of 
"  Spring  Fever,"  as  he  calls  it,  from  a  volume 
of  verse  by  Edward  Sandford  Martin:  — 

"  I  want  to  go  to  Boston !  There  's  something  in 

the  air  — 
The  breath  of  spring ;  some  restless  germ  unnamed; 

it 's  everywhere  — 


107 


Boston  New  and  Old 

'Twixt  you  and  me  't  were  sweet  to  put  a  tem- 
porary gap, 

And  go  and  sit  awhile  in  Boston's  calm  commodi- 
ous lap. 

•  •••••••a 

"  Oh,  Boston,  sweet  are  your  delights,  and  though 

they  may  seem  vain 
To  minds  austere,  my  spirit  craves  the  taste  of  them 

again. 
Oh,  heavenly  town  when  one  is  tired  !   this  good 

one  may  discern 
In  you  that  Heaven   has  not,  since  one  may  taste 

you,  and  return." 

Pray  observe,  gentle  reader,  that  it  is  the 
New  Yorker,  here,  who  speaks ;  and  by 
that  snap  of  the  whip  in  his  last  line 
gives  evidence  that  he  is  of  those  who 
find,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  really, 
the  best  thing  in  Boston  to  be  the  train 
for  New  York.  If  we  don't  say  that  in 
New  York  of  the  Boston  train,  it  is  be- 
cause we  decided  long  ago  that  here,  where 
our  lot  was  cast,  we  want  not  only  to  go, 

io8 


^he  Somerset  from  across  the  Fenway 


The  Soul  of  the  City 

but  to   live.   To   be  sure,  we  have  New 
York  to  visit;  and  we  want  to  go   there 


oft 


en. 


The  show  is  over,  the  diorama  has  dis- 
solved, ^o^aveatquevak!  Boston  is  by  no 
means  "complete,"  j2)<^^^  Mr.  Arnold  Ben- 
nett, who,  peering  into  one  of  our  queer  old 
graveyards,  thought  and  wrote  it  was.  ^^All 
times  when  old  are  good  ! "  as  we  began  by 
saying;  and  it  will  not  be  very  long  before 
we  shall  look  back  upon  these  that  are 
passing  as  we  write,  to  sigh  for  the  days 
when  Saint  Paul's  Church,  with  its  un- 
finished pediment,  had  not  yet  been  turned 
into  a  cathedral,  and  when  the  Boston 
Custom  House  was  a  mausoleum  and  not 
a  campanile ! 


THIS  EDITION  CONSISTS  OF  SEVEN  HUNDRED 
AND  EIGHTY-FIVE  NUMBERED  COPIES  OF 
WHICH  THIS  COPY  IS  NUMBER   V-^7 


.joTPlfgS 


■*^^V  -■ 


THE   RIVERSIDE   PRESS 

CAMBRIDGE  •   MASSACHUSETTS 

U   .  S  •   A. 


DATE  DUE 

n'~C 

UC 

3.  A 

m    2      1: 

'm  ■  '  • 

■^ 

f\i 

FEB  -li 

1993 

J 

UNIVERSITY  PRODUCTS,  INC.    #859-5503 

BOSTON  COLLEGE 


J'""9031   021  73918  0 


